


Incorruptible

by Eva Grimm (elusivetruth)



Series: Inverse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Amputation, Drama, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, Multi, Romance, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transgender, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 61,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2509256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusivetruth/pseuds/Eva%20Grimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megan Stark intended to abandon her life as Agent Stark, aka the Iron Woman, after the Battle of NYC, but her ties have proven resilient. Her life has been turned upside down; allies have become her enemies, and enemies her allies. Now, she’s walking the blurred line that separates heroes from villains. Part 2 of the "Inverse" universe; follows "Invincible."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Der Verführers Einzug (The Tempter’s Entrance)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Incorruptible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

**Incorruptible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Chapter One: Der Verführers Einzug (The Tempter’s Entrance)_

“This is the start of how it all ends. They used to shout my name, now they whisper it.”

Lorde, _Yellow Flicker Beat_

* * *

  **Sunday, December 25th, 2005 @ 09:26p, EST | Washington, D.C., a homeless shelter**

“I’m sorry, sir, but if you don’t have an ID, then we can’t let you stay.”

“Please,” the young, raven-haired man begged, his thick, unkempt black beard shaking steadily in sync with the uncontrollable chattering of his jaw. Though the streets of the capitol were devoid of snow that evening, they were nevertheless coated with ice, perfectly matching such a frigid night. Even stepping into the lobby of a homeless shelter did very little to dispel the pervasive cold once it had settled into one’s bones so deeply. “Just for tonight? It’s C-c-christmas…”

The attendant sighed wearily, averting her eyes from the pitiable man. He had been regularly attempting to stay at the shelter for nearly half a year, and she hated having to turn him away, since he had a habit of breaking into tears when rejected. “Listen, hun, I want to help you. I really do. But my hands are tied here. There’s nothing I can do.”

Sure enough, the man choked back a sob as his sky blue eyes began to brim with tears. Without another word, he turned on his heel and fled from the desk to the lobby doors, which he awkwardly fumbled with for a moment before finally leaving. He began to walk down the sidewalk, no particular direction beyond ‘somewhere warm’ in mind, but he didn’t make it far from the shelter before the December air swirled violently, slamming a chilly gust into the bedraggled man causing him to lose his balance on the ice and crash down onto the sidewalk. He swore violently, his voice laced with agony as he awkwardly pulled himself to his feet. Blood dribbled from his cheek where an errant rock had dug into his flesh upon impact with the ground, and a portion of his ragged jacket’s sleeve bore a freshly torn, jagged hole. If he noticed either of these things, he didn’t show it, instead pulling himself weakly to his feet before stumbling over and into a nearby alcove lest the ominously howling air make good on its threat of more pain to come should he not seek shelter from its tender mercies.

“Goddamn body,” he murmured to himself once he was relatively secure within the alcove, a lone light dimly illuminating the nearby area. He brought his hand to his cheek to inspect the damage his body’s pain receptors were reporting diligently, and as his surprisingly smooth hands brushed over the offending area, the course black hairs of his out of control beard brushed against his fingers. He snatched away his hand violently at the sensation as yet another deep sob wracked his frame. _It’s all just too much._ He crumbled to the ground as if his legs were jelly and curled into a tight ball, trying in vain to make his large frame smaller. Tears continued to flow freely from his tightly shut eyes as he began to mutter nonsensical gibberish to himself in as comforting a tone as he could muster (Which, needless to say, was not very comforting at all.).

“What the ‘ell’s wrong wit’ this guy den?” a rough, deep voice called out from just outside the light of the bulb overhead. “Inner’uptin’ me sleep, ‘e is, Georgie.”

“Do kindly keep your mouth shut, Parry. I can only hear so much of your uncivilized tongue before the urge to empty my stomach becomes too great,” the person apparently named ‘Georgie’ bit back, disgust evident in her voice. “Perhaps he’s mourning having inadvertently stumbled into your proximity? But for the advantages of keeping you nearby, I know I would.”

The sound of someone pulling themselves to their feet reached the ears of the crying figure huddled up on the ground. One of his tear-filled eyes snapped open, the watery, sky blue eye locking onto the direction the noise came from, but the shadow betrayed nothing.

“Oi, what’cha doin’ den?” Parry asked, his befuddlement evident.

“I should think it obvious. I am checking on the condition of our new companion,” Georgie replied as she slowly entered the aura of light surrounding the fallen man, the shadows framing her features, their appearance somehow still refined despite her apparent malnourishment. Her expression was carefully neutral, spare her dark eyes which glinted with curiosity. “Humorous allusions to your status as a pariah aside, something is clearly ailing him.”

The focus of her attention moaned as she bled out of the shadows. “No… Please stay away from me.”

Her lips tightened into a small frown, her eyes narrowing so slightly that the movement would’ve been missed, had he not been watching her approach so intently. “Do you honestly believe I am going to hurt you? Perhaps you suspect I wish to make your fetching, tattered coat my own. Foolishness! Just show me what hurts. I was a doctor in a previous life; I can help.”

Georgie closed the gap between them with a collected gait that, similar to her features, belied her social status. As her gloved hand descended upon the tense figure, her finger tips bare and spread wide, the man lashed out in obvious panic, crying out with a suddenly squeaky voice, “ _Don’t touch me_!”

She hissed as his fingernails raked her partially uncovered wrist, the yellowing cuff of her shirt having edged back in the process of reaching out. “You dastard! Why would you do such a thing!” Her face twisted as she snarled out, “Very well then… I attempted to be civil, and I will not be subjected to abuse. Perhaps an education regarding why I suffer Parry’s presence is called for?” Her dark eyes gleamed as she backed away, the shadows slowly enveloping her once more. “Yes. That seems to me the proper course of action. Parry, darling? Please take out the trash.”

Sky blue eyes widened fearfully as gravel ground heavily against the pavement as her companion pulled himself to his feet within the darkness. “A’ight. What’er ya say, Georgie.”

“Please, no…” the man brokenly implored as the hulking form of Parry clomped over towards him. As quickly as he could, he picked himself up to flee but staggered when his aggressor latched onto his arm with an iron grip. “You don’t understand… I-I’m sorry! Please don’t do this!” he cried as he began to tremble, his gaze locked onto where he was being touched, unable to look away.

“You ask for a kindness,” Georgie retorted with a snort, “yet when I proffered such before, you reacted with violence. Deplorable,” she finished, shaking her head as she disappeared into the inky black entirely. “Your request is _rejected_.”

“Aye, you ‘eard ‘er,” Parry said, a lopsided grin adorning his face as he drew back his fist. “‘Take ou’ da trash!’” The man with the sky blue eyes braced for the impact, his face screwed up in anticipation and his eyes firmly shut.

The blow never came.

“Is your hopelessness truly so deep that you will not defend yourself, Megan Stark?” a new voice asked. It was a voice she recognized but never would have expected to hear again, much less at that precise moment.

Megan yelped, her eyes snapping wide open. Parry was gone and standing in his place was an unmistakable man with shoulder-length black hair clad in ostentatious green and gold armor. “Loki,” she breathed out in shock before cringing at how foreign the name sounded when uttered by her currently baritone pitched voice. “I… What?”

The trickster god gave her a distinctly unimpressed look. “How perfectly eloquent. I’m certain the historians will be anxious to record that statement in the annals of your world’s history that it might be shared with the generations that follow you.”

She flushed, though most of it was obscured beneath the thick black beard on her face. “Yes, well, given the circumstances, I…” She clenched her male body’s eyes shut as fresh tears began to flood out. _Ordinarily, I wouldn’t take my eyes off of him, but… he does have a point._ “You’re… not wrong. Why _should_ I protect myself at this point? Why fight to keep myself alive, when my reward is continuing to live like this? As _male_?” Her Asgardian companion began to laugh, and the absurdity of his timing caught her off guard. “I’m sorry, is my situation _funny_ to you, Odinson?”

Loki’s eye twitched at being referred to in such a manner, but he bit back the scathing remark he had nearly uttered. _She’s on the tipping point. I can’t push her any further, or she’ll break irreparably._ “Not at all. I simply found your priorities very… you. I imagine that those who don’t know you would have been flabbergasted by your ranking ‘being male’ as a greater problem than ‘homeless,’ ‘starving,’ ‘identity stolen,’ and so on.”

The color of her flush intensified. “In my opinion, it is.”

He smirked. “As I said before: ‘Very you.’ As for your ‘situation,’ as you referred to it, it is quite obviously unacceptable,” he retorted. “What has me puzzled, however, is why you do nothing when you have risen above similar hurdles before. You were born into a male body, yet that did not stop you from being your true self. What is stopping you now?”

Megan frowned, idly noticing that she was no longer shivering uncontrollably and that the air around them was, if anything, quite warm. Whether or not it was an illusion hardly mattered to her at that moment; the reprieve was welcome. “‘Those who don’t know you…’ ‘Your true self…’ You’re implying a level of familiarity with me I wasn’t aware you possessed, Loki.” She paused, waiting for a response from the trickster god. After he graced her with nothing more than the same, secretive smirk, she eventually ground out, “Well?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he smugly quipped. “Was there a question in there? I thought you were just making an observation.”

Her eye twitched violently as she physically restrained herself from slapping the smirk off of his face. “Don’t be a dick. A question was clearly implied.” A mocking smirk of her own danced across her lips. “Or is the illustrious Loki such a poor verbal jouster that he needs me to spell such a thing out for him?”

 _Good. She’s regaining some of her usual vigor. She just needs a bit more._ “Not at all, milady. I simply did not want to appear presumptuous. The implicit question in your observations is: ‘How is it that I have obtained this level of familiarity with you?’ The answer is simple: I did my research. As I’m feeling generous, I will answer the question you will likely follow up with: ‘Why did I research you?’ The answer to that question, however, is somewhat more complex.” He gestured beside her with his hand, a chair appearing there that, in Megan’s opinion, looked exceedingly comfy. “Please have a seat. I would be remiss to give you a lengthy explanation while you stand there as tired as you are.

Megan eyed the chair doubtfully, carefully probing it with her finger. Satisfied that the chair was real, at least for the moment ( _I swear, if he makes this disappear from underneath me, I will break his pretty face. Wait, did I just seriously refer to his face as ‘pretty’? I really do need some rest…_ ), she slowly lowered herself into its cushiony embrace, eventually beginning to relax. Once she was seated, Loki elegantly sat down into the thin air behind himself, a regal, throne-like chair materializing beneath him as he did so. She rolled her eyes at the sight, playfully remarking, “If my priorities are ‘very me,’ then that chair is ‘very you.’”

The trickster god chuckled lightly, his voice eliciting a small smile from her. “I’m confident that we can both agree that being true to oneself is important, right Megan?”

She quirked an eyebrow at that. “I agree, yes, but when did we arrive at a first-name-basis?”

“You’ve referred to me as ‘Loki’ for how long now?”

“Touché. Now, why did you research me?”

“Originally, it was because you have foiled me at every turn. Without you, Thor could not stopped the Bifrost without destroying it. Without you, the ‘Avengers’ (He uttered the moniker with obvious distaste.), would never have pieced together that my underling could control others’ minds, much less how. Without you, my destruction of your ship would have massacred all but a handful of people. I needed to know more about you, to know how to handle you in the future.”

“You’re right,” Megan replied with a hint of mirth, reveling in her growing feeling of security. “That was definitely longer than ‘I did my research.’”

Loki released a distinctly undignified snort. “Quite.”

She gazed curiously at him, her still bloodshot, sky blue eyes squinted (Whether from several minutes of crying or from suspicion was unclear.). “Why are you here?”

He glanced away for a moment, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face so briefly that she nearly missed it despite how closely she was watching him. Steeled, he continued. “My curiosity led me to the discovery that you had saved my life. Without you, I would have been caught in the wake of what you humans call a ‘nuclear’ weapon. My brother foolishly thought me confined, defeated by his hand. Obviously I was not, or I would not be here with you tonight. Regardless, the point is that humans think us immortal; we are not. Had you not changed that weapon’s course, I would have died. Consequentially, I… feel indebted to you. And I see the potential for me to repay that debt in a way that I am comfortable with.” He leaned back into his chair, his lips twisting into a light smirk. “Now, I have generously answered several of your questions, and I am still awaiting the answer to mine: What is stopping you from being yourself, Megan? You did so once before when you were but a child.”

She scoffed, unaware that her voice’s pitch had begun to rise. “I did that when I was six, yes, but the circumstances now are a great deal more difficult to overcome. There’s a huge difference between the only child of Howard and Maria Stark transitioning and a homeless man with no government identification, no money, and no friends transitioning.”

“And yet, your intact intellect has not been able to conjure up a single alternative avenue to become yourself once more?” the trickster quipped back.

“You’ve used that terminology a couple of times now: ‘Be yourself,’” Megan remarked, her head cocked slightly to the side, her curiosity evident. “Tell me, Loki, who do _you_ think I am?”

The Asgardian steepled his hands in front of himself, taking a moment to carefully consider his choice of words, before replying, “You are a female spirit trapped within a body that repulses you so much that you cannot bear to be touched. Your spirit cries out, desperately pleading for you to be your true self once more — to shed this lie you have been forced into. You have done your best to deal with being thrust into this form, done your best to return yourself to normal, but it affects you so much that you have become trapped in a perpetuating circle. Needing to be yourself again, but unable to make it happen because you are not. Even what you are experiencing now is a temporary reprieve. You feel better because you are interacting with me, someone who knows you for who you are, but eventually, the feeling will be tempered by the truth of your situation, which will grow ever more unavoidable.” He paused. “Simply put, you are someone who will invariably die unless someone helps you.”

The duo sat there in silence for a time, Megan’s eyes locked onto his, boring into them as though the truth of his words could be ascertained if she merely stared into them long enough. She was losing herself in a sea of pale green, his words echoing, washing over and through her, his baritone piercing straight to her core. _I don’t want to go back to that._

“You’re right, Loki,” she eventually breathed out, now aware that her words were spoken by her true, soprano voice. “I don’t want to die.” She bit her lip softly, her conflict evident. Her upper teeth rubbed briefly against the skin beneath her bottom lip, revealing that her face was once again free of the course beard it had born for so long. The word danced from her lips: “Please…”

A toothy smile began to grow on the Asgardian’s lips. _Almost._ “Please what, Megan?”

She whined softly at his use of her name, reveling in the fact that for the first time in nigh half a year _someone_ saw her as herself. She wrapped her arms around herself, drinking in the feeling of the return of her voice’s true timbre and of her petite frame. _Gods, I don’t care if it_ is _an illusion._ “Please, Loki… Help me… I don’t want to go back.”

“That, Megan, is why I am here.”

* * *

**Tuesday, July 12th, 2005 @ 10:02a, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

“Morning, Danny,” Megan said as she entered the tower’s dining area where she, Danny, and Bruce ate their meals together.

The brunette tore his gaze from the laptop in front of him, which he’d been using to idly scan the news, and moved it to her. Her usual, disheveled appearance upon waking up brought a smile to his face. “Good morning to you too, Meg! You’re up early. What’s the occasion?” he cheerfully replied before grabbing a fresh piece of toast and beginning to prepare it with butter and jam.

The raven-haired genius replied, “Nightmare,” before yawning and following up indignantly, “And you are _entirely_ too cheerful. How I manage with two morning people living under my roof is beyond me.”

He gave her an utterly unrepentant grin. “Who can say ‘no’ to this face? And as for Bruce, ew — we aren’t discussing that,” he quipped, earning a piece of toast thrown at his face by his ‘sister.’

“Mhm, something like that,” she replied, sticking her tongue at him as she set about preparing her own breakfast, a simple bowl of cereal. The moment after she finished pouring the milk over the cereal, Jarvis intoned, “There’s someone at the front door for you ma’am.”

She groaned heavily in response. “Perfect timing … Who is it, Jarvis?”

After a moment of silence, the AI replied, “She is delivering an undisclosed document. I have analyzed her person and determined that you are being served.”

“Ah… right,” she replied after a moment, taking stock of her appearance. Thankfully, she was more dressed than she had been the last time she was served, due in no small part to Danny’s presence. “Well, tell her I’ll be down in a second.”

“Wait, why?” the brunette asked with a confused expression. “You’re not officially served until they hand the subpoena to you, right? So why go take it at all?”

“Danny!” she reprimanded with a frown, turning back from the door she had nearly exited through. “It’s not fair for me to dodge a subpoena like that just because I have technology that allows me too.”

He scoffed, “If there’s one thing I learned on the streets, it’s that life isn’t ‘fair,’ Meg. If you have an advantage, you should exploit it.”

“Oh? So I should scrap the Stark Foundation for LGBTQ+ Youth? Keep one of my biggest advantages, my money, to myself?”

Danny cringed at that. “I… Well…”

Megan sighed, crossed the room to where he was still sitting, and hugged him around his shoulders. “Danny, you’re not wrong, but you’re not right either. There’s a fine line with these things. Sometimes, giving away one of your advantages is the right thing to do, and other times, you need to keep it to yourself. I’m going downstairs because even though I could be the untouchable princess in her tower, I recognize that using my power like that is corrupt.” She giggled then. “Besides, they’d eventually just send the big guns. Wastes less time to tackle the problem head on.”

“Okay, okay,” the teen responded, half abashedly, half laughingly. “Point taken.”

“Good!” she replied. “Now then, I need to get down there. I’ll be back for that breakfast soon, okay?” As she made her way over to the door into the hallway where the elevator lied, she called out, “And Jarvis, would you please tell Bruce that I need to eat breakfast still, but I’ll be up soon?”

“Of course, ma’am,” her AI intoned as walked into the elevator that Jarvis had summoned and left open for her.

* * *

_'You are hereby ordered to appear at the July 14th, 02:00p session of the U.S. Senate Armed Forces Committee hearing to testify regarding your continued possession of the ‘Iron Woman’ armor despite your discharge from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division on March 16 th, 2005. Address follows.'_

“Seriously? These guys need to get a hobby or something,” Megan remarked as she glanced at the subpoena. Her sky blue eyes flicked up to look at the blonde carrier, briefly glazing over before she commented, “You served me in California too, didn’t you? The must pay you some good money, if you’re traveling all over the U.S. to deliver subpoenas.”

“It’s a living,” the carrier remarked with a shrug before turning on her heel and hopping back into her waiting taxi.

“Fair enough…” she murmured to herself as she made her way back into the tower. “And two days is more reasonable notice than last time, at least. Jarvis, is my schedule clear?”

“Yes, ma’am. Beyond your usual work, the only other event on your schedule for the day is your meeting with Aldrich Killian at 11:00a.”

“Mmm, I’d almost forgotten about that…” she noted as she walked into the waiting elevator, which began to rapidly ascend, taking her back to her, by now, soggy cereal. “Happy was insisting on escorting me to that, right?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Then please send him a message so he knows about the hearing and also a message to the flight crew for my jet.”

The elevator reached the floor with the dining area not long after, and when she made her way into it, she found two brunettes waiting for her instead of one. “Hey, Pearl,” Bruce said over her bowl of cereal with a smile. “I figured I’d eat this for brunch, so you could have something that wasn’t soggy.”

Megan returned the smile with a brilliant one of her own. Her beau knew her well. Even if the food had been soggy, she would have eaten it anyway, as she hated to waste food. “Thanks, my wyrm. Working on anything interesting upstairs?”

“Nothing too exciting, really,” he replied, placing a kiss on her cheek as she passed by to grab a fresh bowl of cereal. “So what’s the subpoena for?”

“The suit, surprise surprise. Honestly, it was just a matter of time. S.H.I.E.L.D. secured me a stay of execution last time, but now that I’m no longer with them, I’ll have to face the music by myself.” A new bowl of cereal prepared, she sat down next to Bruce, across from Danny, at the table. “At this point, I’m just hoping they haven’t roped Phil or somebody else I trust into testifying that I’m a danger to society while the suit’s my property. My publicity is… mixed after the NYC debacle.”

“You’re lucky nobody in the press has pieced together my part in that mess,” Bruce replied, “or the military would knocking on our door as we speak… To be honest, I’m surprised Ross hasn’t leaked it in the hopes of finally having an excuse to go after me again.”

Megan took a couple of bites from her cereal, thinking over the probabilities of such a situation occurring, before finally replying, “No, that’s unlikely to happen, unless he’s willing to risk his career. The moment the Hulk is tied to you, the press will find a way to dig up your past, and that will invariably lead them back to Ross. His career would be over; nobody would want a general like him. Beyond that point, S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn’t separated us because, despite the fact that I’ve left them, the fact remains that you are significantly safer when you’re with me.”

“Yeah, that sounds accurate; especially the part regarding S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he agreed. “What’s the game plan for the hearing then? Any thoughts?”

“Unless I think of something new between point A and point B, the plan’s to go with the argument I would have given last time, if S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t taken the heat in my stead: First and foremost, the ‘Iron Woman’ can’t be their property because _I_ am the Iron Woman, and that’s indentured servitude at best. As for the suit itself, I’ll attempt to convince them that it’s not a weapon — it’s an advanced prosthetic. If they insist on defining it as a weapon, I’ll point out that out of everyone in the world, I am the most qualified handler for it, and that taking it from me and giving it to someone else actually _increases_ the risk of danger. If _that_ fails, then I’ll point out that if they decide to take my suit that I can, and will, appeal their determination to a Court of Appeals. Unless they somehow convince the court to convene an emergency session, that will buy me a couple of months, during which time I’ll ‘levy my assets to my advantage’ (i.e., I’ll either find or create blackmail that will make them wish they’d never dicked around with me. I can’t actually _say_ that, but they’ll get the message if I have to contact them personally in the meantime to drive the point home.). Worst case scenario at that point, I’ll use the bought time to figure out a better plan, at the very least. Maybe build a self-sufficient space station that orbits the moon? Nobody has a valid land claim there, that I’m aware of.”

Danny stared blankly at her, his laptop long since forgotten. Bruce just smiled and quipped back, “Well, it’s good to have a plan.”

* * *

**Thursday, July 14th, 2005 @ 10:54a, EST | Washington, D.C.**

“I still don’t like the idea of you meeting this guy alone, Megan,” Happy grumbled as he deftly steered the car through the awful inner-city traffic. “I’m the Chief of Security now, and it’s my jo—”

“Happy,” Megan interrupted with a weary sigh, “thank you very much for being such an exuberant ( _Total understatement..._ ) Chief of Security, but we’ve been over this. It’s just a quick tech demonstration, he understandably wants to keep it as confidential as possible because it involves trade secrets, and he’s not some random stranger.”

“A guy you’ve met all of once before isn’t that much better than a ‘random stranger,’ Meg,” her ex-bodyguard drawled back.

The petite woman sighed as she shifted anxiously in her seat, readjusting her crossed legs so the left was on top. “You’re not wrong, really. The last time I saw Aldrich was six years ago at that technical conference in Bern, and he was… kind of creepy, if I’m being honest. Still, I need to see this tech demonstration. He said his think tank’s nearly completed Maya Hansen’s project that she showed me at the conference. You remember that, right? The explosion at the hotel when you pulled the leaf off of her plant?”

Happy grimaced at the memory. The explosion he caused was definitely one of his biggest failures as a bodyguard, since but for his actions, nothing would have happened. “Yeah, I remember… Actually, didn’t you help with her with it?”

“I gave her some of my thoughts on it, yes, but I doubt my five minutes of thinking and hastily written out thoughts on the formula were very helpful.” She glanced out the window in thought, unconsciously rubbing the prosthetic portion of her left leg. “The point is, if A.I.M. has come close to completing the formula, then a joint venture with them would be a good idea for Stark Industries. The technology would, at the very least, be an alternative to our prosthetics line, if not replace us altogether. Aldrich specifically requested me instead of Pepper, so I _need_ to go to this demonstration.” She turned her gaze from the window back to rearview mirror where Happy was occasionally glancing back at her. “Besides,” she added, “if he tries anything unsavory, I’ll zap him.” She snapped her fingers, a small flare of electricity occurring as she did so — the byproduct of her brief stint as the owner of Mjölnir.

The driver released a resigned sigh but otherwise said nothing as he parked the car at the venue A.I.M. had named. Appreciating why she needed to go didn’t mean he had to like it, and admittedly, her strange new power _was_ a certain degree of insurance for her safety. Seeing that they’d arrived, Megan unbuckled herself, opened the door, and slid out of the car, a smile growing on her face as her upper thighs rubbed together, the feeling reminding her that she now had the genitalia she knew she should’ve had since birth. Her birthday this year had fallen on a Sunday, so she hadn’t been able to have the surgery the moment she turned twenty-five, but by the end of the thirtieth, her genitalia had finally been remolded. Her recovery had lasted a handful of weeks (During which time she nearly drove Bruce and Danny, who had to deal with her full time, crazy as she insisted on working from bed.), ending last week.

The thought of how she and Bruce had celebrated the end of her recovery made her flush, and that only served to remind her that the celebrations had been… ongoing, and included the night prior. Happy, who had leaned over to the right side of the car after pressing the button to lower the passenger window, looked up to check on her and noticed. “You okay there, Meg?”

“Yes!” Megan squeaked out, altogether too fast, eliciting a quirked eyebrow from him. “I, err…” she muttered as she collected herself. “I was just thinking about…” _Meg, listen to yourself! Are you seriously about to tell Happy you were thinking about you and Bruce having sex!?_ “Err… it’s… a girl thing.”

The color of his face rapidly changed to match the hue of hers from a moment prior, and he muttered something that vaguely sounded like, “I don’t want to know,” which elicited a giggle from the petite woman.

She turned her attention back to the surprisingly nondescript location. _I know Aldrich said this is just an outpost of sorts, but still, I expected something… different for the think tank that’s working out how to regrow lost or damaged limbs!_ “I’ll see you at one o’clock, right?”

“On the dot,” he replied, attempting to recover his composure.

“Okay.” She smiled. “Thank you for agreeing to drive me out, Happy. This feels like old times.”

Happy returned her smile. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

She gave him a jaunty wave then turned away and headed into the building, her red pumps clicking on the sidewalk along the way. Inside, a man sharply dressed in a light gray suit, open top black button-up shirt combo gave her a brilliantly white smile as he greeted her, “Megan! It’s so good to see you after all this time!”

Megan blinked, nonplussed for a moment before realization struck her. “Aldrich!” she exclaimed. “Wow! I barely recognized you, you’ve changed so much!” Her eyes raked over him once more, taking note of the changes. His blonde hair was pristinely styled and swept back, his thickly framed glasses were gone altogether, his smile was perfect, and despite the absence of his cane, his posture was impeccable. She couldn’t help herself: She blushed. “You look great. You look _really_ great.”

He laughed at that. “Yes, I suppose I _have_ changed a bit since New Year’s Eve 1999. Though in my opinion, _you_ are the one who’s ‘changed so much.’” He gestured at her pristine white pant-suit and the red blouse underneath that was simultaneously tasteful yet flattering — her arc reactor on full display — and also matched her hair’s highlights and her mother’s pumps, which she had decided to wear for much the same reason she had at the Stark Demonstration just over a year ago: She wanted to channel her mother’s courage, in the hopes that the press conference would end in her favor. “You are stunning, Meg. Age has only enhanced your beauty.”

“T-thank you, Aldrich. That’s sweet of you to say,” she murmured, her blush intensifying, beginning to match the hue of her red attire. _Pull it together, Meg! You’re acting like a school girl for heaven’s sake!_ “I’m sorry, I’ve gotten us off point, haven’t I? I’m very excited to see where you are with Maya’s work. I believe you said you’re calling it Extremis?”

“Oh, I have an incredible demonstration planned.” He gave her a winning smile and gestured for her to follow him as he set off at a light pace down the hall. “As it so happens,” he continued after they had begun walking, “the changes you noticed between the old me and the new me are the first example I have to show you.”

Megan’s eyebrows shot up a mile. “I’m sorry? You’re saying you’ve used the technology on yourself? I was under the impression the formulae were still under development?”

“There are some… kinks that are still being worked out, but the benefits of the technology are so strong that we decided to move forward with human testing despite the side effects.”

“I… see,” she replied. “Well, I’m familiar with the benefits from what you’ve told me. Admittedly, I’m… concerned by the potential for weaponizing this technology. I’m in the business of prosthetics to help people live, not to help them kill others. Still, it’s something I’m confident our lawyers can hammer out terms that would alleviate my worries in that regard. As for the side effects, what exactly are we talking about here?”

Megan’s prosthetic leg suddenly stopped functioning, sending the caught off guard genius crashing to the ground. “Fuck!” she exclaimed, as she twisted mid-air to avoid landing on her face, putting her left side in the line of fire. She cried out in pain as she connected solidly with the floor, her shoulder dislocating from the impact.

While she was falling, Aldrich had swiftly retrieved a filled syringe from a case in his pocket and, before she could react from her position on the ground, he stabbed her with the needle and depressed the plunger. “Our second demonstration will showcase the primary side effect we discovered.”

Immediately, she began to scream and writhe, her veins feeling as though they were filled with liquid fire. Electricity flared out from her body reflexively, blasting back a surprised Aldrich, but it rapidly began to fizzle out. The panicked genius attempted to summon up the power again, hoping to fight back, but instead of feeling the expected jolt of current, she felt a very different jolt. Her body began to change: She was growing in size, muscle mass, and height, her clothes rapidly becoming ill fitting to the point that they began to tear away altogether; her smooth skin began to grow rougher and sprout coarse, black hair body hair; her scream, though undying in intensity, began to fall dramatically in pitch; the receptors for her prosthetic leg rose to the surface of her skin and burst through, the skin healing over promptly; the prosthetic itself fell off as the missing portion of her limb began to grow anew; the shining blue arc reactor in her sternum slowly pushed its way out of the hole in her sternum together with a multitude of small metal shards — the shrapnel that had been present in her nearly two years — leaving a gaping wound that sealed immediately after; and her genitalia, which had finally been remolded only two months prior to how it ought to have been, made a frightening return, reaching a size larger than it had been after a life of hormone replacement therapy.

The whole process took only moments, but to Megan, it felt like an eternity, the pain blinding due to how massive and multitudinous her changes were. Eventually, the pain subsided leaving only the thrum of fire in her veins, the relief of having numerous health issues suddenly gone, and a crawling feeling all over her that her body felt _wrong_. “What ha—” she began to wearily ask, before she slapped a hand over her mouth as the pupils of her sky blue eyes shrank until they were practically nonexistent, the pitch of her voice sending her into a frenzied panic. _No! No, no,_ no _! Please tell me this is just a nightmare! I’m going to wake up in a minute, and Bruce will be there next to me, ready to comf—_

“As you can see,” Aldrich said, interrupting her panicked train of thought, “Extremis performs its regrowth based off of one’s DNA rather than self-perception. Any cosmetic surgery or similar procedures the subject has previously undergone are wiped away as if they had never happened.”

“ _NO_!” Megan screamed, her voice shrill yet distinctly masculine in timbre. “No, no, _no_!”

“Yeah, I had a feeling you’d be dissatisfied with the results, regrown leg or not. In fact, that’s not the only unpleasant side effect, but I imagine you’re a tad bit more occupied with this one at the moment.”

She began to hyperventilate, sobs wracking her now male body as tears began to flood her vision. The room was beginning to spin and go black, her mind unable to process what was happening. The last memory she had before everything went black was Aldrich smugly remarking, “That concludes my presentation.”

* * *

Aldrich watched smugly as his underlings ripped off what little of Megan’s clothes remained remotely intact until she was entirely bare and began to slip her male body into the type of worn and battered clothes that many homeless men wore. “That went well,” he idly commented to the woman standing next to him — a perfect doppelgänger of Megan Stark.

“Yes, but I hate that this was necessary,” she replied with a wince. “It was… hard to watch, to say the least.”

“I can only imagine, my beautiful pearl,” he responded before turning to her and softly cupping her face. “I’m sorry our plan requires so much of you.”

“Don’t be,” she said with a small smile. “It’s only fair that I do my part to save the world.” She pushed herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed him firmly on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

“Sir, are you okay?” the police officer inquired, his mag light lit but aimed slightly away to avoid blinding the sleeping, raven haired homeless man when he opened his eyes.

Megan’s eyes shot wide open, her sky blue irises frantically snapping back and forth and unable to focus, and she let loose a brief, wordless scream, the masculine pitch of which only served to deepen the rapidly developing panic attack. “No, no, no,” she began to mutter incessantly as she began to rapidly pat down her body, her movements becoming frenzied as her hands confirmed that her body was one that clearly proclaimed ‘male.’

The officer’s eyebrows furrowed as he took a step back from the hectic Megan. “Sir, have you been drinking tonight?”

“ _No_!” she screamed back at him, his breathes short and ragged. “I-I-I can’t… N-n-n-nightmare, please, please, please…”

“Sir, I need you to calm down for me,” the officer said, attempting to placate the frenzied Megan.

“ _Help me_ ,” she moaned as her eyes finally managed to focus on the nearby officer. “Attacked… Please h-help…”

“Dispatch,” the officer’s nearby partner directed into his radio, “we have an individual who’s claiming to have been attacked and is presently having a panic attack. We need EMS at the corner of V Street northeast and third street northeast, over.”

“Sir,” the original officer asked with as calm a voice as he could muster, “I need you to tell me who attacked you…”

* * *

**Sunday, December 25th, 2005 @ 09:59p, EST | Washington, D.C., an alcove near a homeless shelter**

“No one believed me, of course,” Megan said with a sigh, regaling the trickster god with her tale. “No one would believe that I was Megan Stark, much less _how_ my body had changed… My family might have, if I could have reached them, but my doppelgänger made sure all contact between my family and me was impossible.”

“It is outlandish, even to me,” Loki admitted, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. “What your world can do with this… ‘science’ is fascinating. To recreate what only magic could accomplish, all without a drop of mana…”

“Mana?” the raven-haired woman queried.

Her companion lifted his right hand, aiming his palm at the wall to his right, and released a wave of ice, flash freezing the wall into a solid sheet of ice. “Reserves of magic. You didn’t think magic was fueled by nothing, did you, Megan?”

“Fascinating…” she murmured, her eyes raking over the fruits of his magical display. “This explains Heimdall’s condition when I first went to Asgard. I thought all magic was created by weapons like Mjölnir and Gungnir… I suppose the knowledge I was given when I took up Mjölnir wasn’t complete.” Her sky blue orbs found his pale green counterparts. “Am I correct in guessing mana isn’t something all Asgardians have?”

Loki nodded his head in confirmation, a light grin on his lips. _She catches on quickly. This was definitely the correct course of action… I’m liking her more and more._ “Yes. Though I am not truly Asgardian, but rather Jotun, it is nevertheless true that all races have variance regarding who possesses mana reserves.” Seeing she was satisfied, albeit curious, by his answer ( _Since she’s not asking what a ‘Jotun’ is, she must have already known from the wealth of knowledge she gained when she claimed Mjölnir. Likely, this means she’s pondering how Thor and I came to be ‘brothers’ but isn’t asking because she can sense it may be a sensitive topic._ Very _good…_ ), he added, “Thank you for telling me the whole story of how you came to be like this. Having the full details is helpful.”

“Of course,” she replied, unconcerned. “It’s impossible to solve an equation unless you have all the variables, after all.”

“The… variables?” he asked, one eyebrow elegantly quirked questioningly.

“The influencing factors,” she supplied sheepishly, having briefly forgotten that although Asgard primarily (and miraculously) spoke English, Asgardian English was very archaic in vocabulary. “Speaking of which,” she added, her gaze becoming intent, “I cannot begin to thank you enough for helping me. You said earlier that you saw ‘the potential for you to repay that debt in a way that you’re comfortable with,’ and I know you said you’re doing this because I saved your life, yet…” She worried her lip for a moment, preparing for potential backlash, before continuing. “Yet I can’t shake the feeling that you aren’t doing this purely out of the kindness of your heart. Your moniker, ‘the trickster god,’ is well deserved as I understand it.”

If anything, the Asgardian appeared smug upon hearing her question. “Excellent. Despite all other distractions, you still noticed my wording and remained appropriately cautious. Ordinarily, I would frown on you showing me your hand so clearly, but it made determining whether you were wary of me very easy.”

Megan stared at the raven-haired trickster. _Well, shit._ “So… What exactly do you get out of doing this, besides repayment of a life debt?”

“I consider the life debt owed by me to you fully repaid, in light of my restoring your body to what your spirit has always yearned for,” Loki carefully explained. “That aside, I have an offer that I hope you will consider.”

She considered him for a time, watching carefully for any sign of disingenuousness. Eventually, with her eyes carefully focused on his, she asked, “My body is permanently restored — not an illusion?”

“Yes,” the Asgardian evenly replied, matching her seriousness and meeting her gaze.

 _No dilation in his pupils… I’m confident a Jotun’s body must have some differences from that of a human, but given my unfamiliarity with how they tick, I’ll have to stick with what works on humans and hope they’re appropriate analogues. I know I’m biased in wanting what he says to be true, but still… I’ll assume he’s not lying._ “Please tell what you have in mind.”

The Asgardian gave her a toothy smile as he drew a circle in the air between them with his index finger, a ring of light tracing its movement. When the light had formed a complete circle, a scene from a press conference not long after her attack began to play out, showing Aldrich Killian and Megan’s doppelgänger shaking hands with the news title ‘Stark Industries partnership with Advanced Idea Mechanics’ emblazoned below them. “You have your body back, but I imagine you will want to reclaim your life from your doppelgänger and will want revenge for the atrocities this ‘Aldrich Killian’ did to you. I will help you, Megan, on the condition that you will be my ally from this day forward.”


	2. The Embrace of Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Incorruptible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_The Asgardian gave her a toothy smile as he drew a circle in the air between them with his index finger, a ring of light tracing its movement. When the light had formed a complete circle, a scene from a press conference not long after her attack began to play out, showing Aldrich Killian and Megan’s doppelg_ _ä_ _nger shaking hands with the news title ‘Stark Industries partnership with Advanced Idea Mechanics’ emblazoned below them. “You have your body back, but I imagine you will want to reclaim your life from your doppelg_ _ä_ _nger and will want revenge for the atrocities this ‘Aldrich Killian’ did to you. I will help you, Megan, on the condition that you will be my ally from this day forward.”_

* * *

**Incorruptible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Chapter Two: The Embrace of Demons_

“When you feel my heat, look into my eyes. It’s where my demons hide — it’s where my demons hide.”

Imagine Dragons, _Demons_

 

* * *

**Friday, December 31st, 1999 @ 11:47p, CET | Bern, Switzerland**

“Ms. Stark, may I have a moment of your time?”

Megan stealthily and quickly breathed in through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, a futile attempt to manage her nerves, which had become quite frayed over the course of the evening. _It’s not their fault,_ she intoned to herself, a silent mantra she had been repeating throughout the night. The nineteen-year-old had slowly begun to become more of a public figure since her time as a teacher’s assistant for one of her M.I.T. classes, having recognized that being more of a ‘people person’ would help her in social situations, but there was only so much she could handle in a given period of time. Regrettably, she had reached her limit about a half hour ago.

“Yes, you may, sir,” she robotically replied, resigning herself to going through the process of meeting someone new for what felt to her the thousandth time that evening. Her companions, Maya Hansen and Happy Hogan, came to a halt together with the young woman and turned with her to face the newcomer.

“Thank you,” Ho Yinsen replied, seeing that he had acquired her attention. The middle-eastern man gestured to his own companion, a somewhat aged, Chinese gentleman. “I would like to introduce you to our guest, Dr. Wu.”

Megan lit up a bit upon seeing the doctor and stuck out her hand for a handshake, a gesture which Wu accepted with an approving expression as she said, “A pleasure to meet you, doctor. Am I correct in presuming that you are the same Dr. Wu who is doing some work with my mother’s charity?”

“Indeed, I am, and it is a pleasure to meet you as well,” he replied with a slight smile. “Your mother often speaks of you and always with great affection. She was especially proud of your recent graduation from M.I.T. Double master’s degrees in four years, am I correct? Mechanical and Electrical Engineering and Computer Science?”

“Ah yes,” Yinsen interjected. “Ms. Stark’s work with integrated circuits during her time at the institute was why I invited her to speak here tonight.”

 _And why I want to hear her thoughts about how to fix the problems with Extremis…_ Maya thought to herself, as she watched the young woman blush under the praise of the two men.

“You’re too kind. Thank you,” Megan replied, her eyes darting over to her companions. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I promised Ms. Hansen some of my time. And, err, to be honest, I’m not the best with crowds.”

“Not at all,” Yinsen said, his and Wu’s posture showing no offense was taken. “Thank you again for your inspiring speech, Ms. Stark.”

Anxious to get to relative solitude, Megan turned to Happy, latched onto his arm, and muttered just loud enough for him to hear, “I _really_ want to get inside now, please.”

“Of course,” Happy replied with a knowing expression as he deftly began to steep her through the crowd, Maya following in their wake.

“Finally,” the teen said as the trio turned the corner, bringing the elevators to Maya’s room into view, a mere couple of yards away. _I have never been so happy to see an elevator in my life!_

She had not escaped yet, however. “Hey, Megan!” a nearby male voice cried out, eliciting a visible cringe from the petite genius.

“Elevator, Happy,” she muttered to her bodyguard before plastering a fake smile onto her face and turning to the approaching man. “That’s my name,” she quipped, her eyebrows rising at the sight of him. His blazer and t-shirt combo, the latter of which was emblazoned with a logo proclaiming ‘A.I.M.,’ was the sort of mixture of casual and classy that worked on some people but, in her opinion, simply didn’t on him. Overall, he had a very geeky appearance, due in no small part to his over-sized glasses and long, unkempt blonde hair. Compared with the rest of the hotel’s occupants, who were largely dressed fashionably for the New Year celebration, he stood out like a sore thumb. Happy smoothly moved to the elevators and hit the ‘up’ button, but as fate would have it, the closest of the six elevators was nearly ten flights away.

“Aldrich Killian,” the man proudly introduced himself with a toothy smile as he walked over, his back hunched over as he used a crutch to support what appeared to be a weak leg. Once he reached the two women, he grabbed Megan’s hand and beginning to shake it without her consent. She seized up, her eyes wide and locked onto him, a hint of panic in them. “I’m a big fan of your work.”

“Y-y-you’re too kind,” she automatically responded before she managed to collect her wits and snatched her hand away from him like she had been burned by his touch.

If Aldrich had noticed her reaction, which he certainly might not have given his obvious lack of social grace, he didn’t show it as he blithely continued, his eyes moving to the side and locking onto the older woman beside her. “And Maya Hansen! My organization has been tracking your research since year two of M.I.T.” He immediately grabbed her hand and began to shake it as he had Megan’s, eliciting a bewildered look from the straight-haired brunette.

A light ‘ting’ rang out as the elevator arrived. _Salvation!_ Megan internally cheered. “Gotta go,” the teen muttered, already hustling over to the elevator. “Happy New Year and what not.”

Maya quickly followed the raven-haired woman into the elevator, Happy having held the door for her, but although the bodyguard immediately moved to stand in the way of the entrance once Maya had passed, Aldrich ducked under the man’s outstretched arms, slipping into the elevator just in time.

“Ah,” Megan said, miraculously resisting the urge to rudely groan as the elevator smoothly slid into motion upwards. “You made it.” She fidgeted as the blonde-haired man’s eyes locked onto her once more, his somewhat stalker demeanor and persistence beginning to creep her out.

Happy didn’t miss the look on his charge’s face. He fixed the overly exuberant Aldrich with a scowl as he maneuvered himself between him and Megan. “What floor you going to, pal?”

“Well now, _that_ is an appropriate question,” Aldrich remarked with a chuckle as he began to blindly fish around in his inner jacket pocket, his eyes never leaving Megan’s sky blue orbs. “The ground floor, actually, of a proposal I’m putting together myself. It’s a privately funded think tank called ‘Advanced Idea Mechanics.’” Finally finding what he was searching for, he withdrew two business cards and practically thrust them at the two women, each embossed with a logo prominently featuring the acronym ‘A.I.M.’

“She’ll take both,” Megan responded as she backed away from his outstretched arm, eyeing the business card dubiously. Maya gave the younger woman a bemused expression, clearly more at ease with their collective situation, and took both of the cards from the exuberant Aldrich.

“‘Advanced Idea Mechanics,’ or ‘A.I.M.’ for short. You get it?” he proudly noted, pointing out the obvious.

“Yeah, I see that ‘cause it’s on your t-shirt,” the raven-haired woman remarked, her efforts to remain civil beginning to erode.

“Haaa!” Aldrich laughed, drawing his laugh out as the elevator finally slid to a halt and opened its doors onto the floor where Maya’s hotel room was. Happy moved to the exit, planting one foot in the doorway and using his large frame to cause the blonde-haired man to take a step back, clearing the way for the petite Megan. “You’ll call, right?” he asked as she hastily began to slip out of the elevator, carefully keeping Happy between them. “Right?”

A myriad of emotions running through her, anger in particular crackling within her like a lightning storm, she turned to him and regarded him with cold blue eyes as she icily remarked, “No.”

“N-no?” the blonde-haired man repeated, as if he were unsure that was what she had said.

“Oh good, and here I was thinking you couldn’t take a hint,” she bit back, eliciting a shocked look from Maya and a knowing look from Happy, who was aware that she’d reached her limit. “I’ve been trying to get that across to you from the moment you just walked up to me and started to shake my hand without my consent. I see now that I should’ve just taken the direct approach. So just to be clear: I. Am. _Not_. Interested.” With that said, the raven-haired woman turned on her heel, glanced for the briefest of moments at the signs indicting which rooms were where, and began to stalk off towards the room number Maya had mentioned to her earlier.

Aldrich watched her depart, slack-jawed and unresponsive, still standing in the elevator. Maya shook herself out of her stupor and quickly dashed off after the younger woman as she withdrew her room’s keycard from her purse.

Happy fixed the man with a fierce expression as he said, “If I see you again tonight, I’ll call the gendarmes and tell them you’ve been stalking her. Understood?”

“R-r-right,” Aldrich stammered, his gaze snapping up to the bodyguard’s eyes. “U-understood.”

With that said, Happy moved into the hallway, withdrawing his foot from the elevator doorway, letting it close between them.

Maya rounded the corner and nearly ran into Megan, who had abandoned her journey to the older woman’s room in favor of pacing back and forth. “Sorry, Maya, but at this point, I think it would be best if we did this another time,” the petite genius said, her pacing continuing without falter. “I’m… not in the best mood for company right now.”

“I… see,” the straight-haired brunette replied with unconcealed disappointment. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” She nearly flinched when the raven-haired woman halted her pacing, her head snapping to face her as her sky blue eyes locked onto her. “Your help would be _really_ invaluable,” she added in what she hoped was a placating, rather than fearful, manner. It was odd, she decided, being afraid of a woman who was younger and smaller than her, but her fierce gaze was so piercing that one tended to forget that the raven-haired woman would be at a severe disadvantage in a physical fight.

“Fine,” Megan ground out, turning on her heel once more and continued towards Maya’s room as Happy finally came around the corner. “Five minutes. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you.”

 _Yes! Yes yes yes!_ Maya cheered, thanking every deity she knew of she hustled after the girl, Happy dutifully following without question.

* * *

“Happy… I can’t… _breathe_ ,” Megan struggled to say, her voice muffled.

“Is it Y2K?” he blurted out in panic, oblivious to her plight as he laid on top of her, having leapt to shield her with his body after the sudden, violent explosion occurred. It would have been admirable, but for the fact he was currently crushing her with his weight and suffocating her with his shoulder.

The teen attempted to reply, but she couldn’t manage to so much as squeak; her air was gone. Nearby, Maya groaned as she lifted herself into a seated position on the floor, the explosion having sent her reeling to the ground. Once she’d regained her bearings, she cast her eyes about the room and froze when she saw the prone bodyguard and the young Megan pinned underneath him. “Good god, get off of her!” she exclaimed.

That caught his attention. His head whipped so hard in her direction that it’s a wonder his head didn’t snap clean off of his neck. “What?”

“You’re suffocating her!” she replied, pointing at the floor beneath him.

The bumpy feeling of laying atop something finally reached his senses, arriving at the same time he remembered _why_ he had leapt to the floor. “Shit!” he cried as he rolled off of the ravenette, who promptly gasped, sucking in a lungful of air. “I’m so sorry!” he said with clear concern.  “I was so focused on Y2K happening that I forgot what I was doing.”

“Are you _kidding_ me?!” Maya indignantly shouted at him. “Not only do you think Y2K is still a problem and causes explosions, you also _forgot_ you were crushing the person you’re supposed to protect?!”

His head swiveled back and forth between the two women, his mouth attempting to work but no sound coming out. Eventually, Megan wearily asked, “Happy, did you… Do something to her plant?”

His head, which was facing her at that moment, stopped swiveling. “I… Err… I maybe… pulled off a leaf?”

If anything, Maya’s indignation grew worse. “I told you not to touch her! She doesn’t like it!”

“‘She’ is just a plant!” he blustered.

“She’s not _just_ a plant,” Maya heatedly retorted. “She’s—”

“She’s a plant that has an experimental instant body regrowth serum injected in her,” the teen interjected before the two of them could continue to argue. She pushed herself upright into a seated position with a soft grunt and rubbed her back along where she’d hit the ground the hardest. “So given the _experimental_ part of that, it’s generally _unwise_ to dick around with such a plant.”

Happy blinked. “Ah. That… makes sense,” he supplied.

His ward gave him a look. “Yeah. So, now that we’re all on the same page about what just happened… I’d really like to take a look at your formula, Maya. Like, now. I kinda want to call it a night ASAP.”

“Oh!” the brunette exclaimed. “Of course, of course!” She hastily (And painfully, if the expression on her face was any indication.) pulled herself to her feet and stumbled over to the desk in the room, which had mercifully remained untouched by the explosion debacle, and slid open a drawer full of documents. The sound of shuffling paper filled the air for a moment before she released a pleased sound, crossed the room to the still seated Megan, and handed her a wad of paper held together by a binder clip.

The ravenette accepted the papers and began to flip through the papers at a rapid pace, her eyes glazed over. Maya watched with surprise and a certain degree of disbelief as she continued to breeze through the lengthy and immensely complicated formulae and intermixed notes. The teen only had eyes for the document however, and never faltered from her blistering second per page pace. Once she’d reached the end of it, she requested, “Give me a pen and one of those business cards.”

The brunette immediately complied, digging the requested items out of her nearby purse before handing them to her. The younger woman took the proffered items, tiredly made her way over to the desk, cleared a space on it, and began to swiftly write on the card. The card, blessedly, was somewhat large, and after a little less than a minute, she’d laid out in cramped script a formula so complex that even a specialist in biological engineering would begin to get a headache just from looking at it.

“Here,” she replied as she held out the card and pen to the brunette woman. “Bio-engineering isn’t exactly my forte, but based on what you told me earlier, I imagine this should give you some ideas on how you might improve the reconstruction process.”

Maya gingerly took the card, barely acknowledging the pen as her eyes locked onto the neat, albeit small, handwriting on the back of the business card, already raking hungrily across the formula Megan had provided. _My god, this is brilliant!_ she exclaimed. _I knew she was a genius, but I never would have imagined that she could produce something on this level in a field outside her specialty — much less so quickly!_

The room’s phone began to ring, finally tearing the bio-engineer out of her thoughts. She blinked. _When did it get so bright outside?_ she wondered as she took notice of the sunlight streaming in through the room’s balcony window. The ringing of the phone drew her attention once more, distracting her from the sudden transition from night to day. “Hello?” she answered once she’d picked up the handset and brought it to her ear.

“Guten Morgen, Ms. Hansen. This is your 11:00a wake up call,” a man replied, his English bearing only the slightest accent.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked bewildered.

There was a brief pause at the other end. “I said this is your 11:00a wake up call. You did request this, yes Ms. Hansen?”

Maya’s eyes shot over to her room’s alarm clock. Sure enough, the electronic screen clearly displayed ‘11:01a.’ “Um… What’s the date?”

“It is January 1st,” the man dutifully replied.

Her jaw fell open. _Have I really been standing here, examining this formula for eleven hours straight without realizing it?_ She gave her feet a test flex and cringed at the feeling. _Yup. I’ve been standing the entire night._ “Ah, right… That… makes sense. Thank you.”

“It is our pleasure, Ms. Hansen. Have a good day.”

“You too…” Maya trailed off as she hung up the phone, her eyes unconsciously gravitating to the formula Megan had given her, even as they began to grow heavy, finally registering that she had just pulled an unintentional all-nighter. Eventually, she tore her eyes away from the card and set it face-down on her desk so it would stop calling to her. She gave the back of the card one last glance before slowly making her way over to her bed, lightly reprimanding herself, “You need sleep first, Maya.” She stripped her clothes off and slipped under the covers, softly murmuring, “Mmm,” as she did so. Her last thought before she fell unconscious was of the name on the back of the card — the name of the man who had been following her research for years — and how she should give him a call.

* * *

**Sunday, December 25th, 2005 @ 10:03p, EST | Washington, D.C., an alcove near a homeless shelter**

Megan snarled viciously at the sight of Aldrich Killian and her doppelgänger hanging in the air between her and Loki, the air around her crackling. “Get rid of that. Now.” The trickster god frowned slightly but complied nevertheless, dispelling the image with a simple wave of his hand. Once he had, she visibly began to calm down, her breathing evening out once more and her eyes losing their steely glint. She initially began to perform a breathing exercise Bruce had shown her for anger control, but the thought of her beloved, who she had not seen in nearly half a year, caused the emotions writhing within her to spike once more, so she abandoned it altogether in favor of simply waiting out her anger. Eventually, she managed to say, “Sorry,” but said nothing more.

Loki quirked an eyebrow at that, asking, “I understand the sight of your tormentors making you angry, but to lose control of yourself so quickly… Is such a reaction common among humans?”

She looked away, somewhat abashed at that. “Yes and no. Most people wouldn’t react as strongly as I did, but at the same time, most people haven’t been through what I have.” Her sky blue eyes swiveled back to Loki. “But regarding your proposal… There are some ambiguities that I want to be clear on before I agree to anything, and one or more parts I’d like to alter, depending on your answers.”

The trickster god gestured widely with a wave of his hand, easily replying, “Ask away.”

“First, you said ‘you will help me,’ but you neither defined exactly how you will help, nor exactly what you’d be helping with. You implied the later was regaining my life from my doppelgänger as well as getting revenge on that son of a bitch Aldrich Killian, but you didn’t _explicitly_ say it. Please clarify both how you’ll help and what you’ll be helping with.”

“Fair enough,” Loki replied with a shrug that, despite the inherently informal nature of the gesture, he somehow made look elegant. “Regarding the latter, I did indeed mean what I implied, as you spelled out already. As for how I will help you… My intention is to teach you how to use your mana.”

The raven-haired woman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, her pupils dilating in surprise. “Wait, I thought you sa—”

“What I said,” he interjected with a light smirk, “is that there is variance in mana reserves among all races. I never said that you, Megan, did not have mana reserves of your own.” He smoothly rose from his feet, and began to slowly close the gap between them, his pale green eyes focused intently on her sky blue orbs. “Surely you have noticed it before? You unconsciously tapped into it mere moments ago, when your anger spiked at the sight of Killian.”

“The electricity?” Megan asked with a start. “But the Allfather said it was a side effect of Mjölnir. He never said it was _me_ who was magical.”

“The Allfather says many things,” Loki said with a frown, coming to a halt in front of her, “most of which is what he deems you should hear — not the truth as a whole.” His eyebrow quirked slightly as a small smirk grew out of his prior frown. “I learned from the best.”

The raven-haired woman growled lightly in indignation. _He could be lying, but what he’s saying makes sense._ “I see.” She cocked her head lightly to the side, her eyes lightly glazed over. “I can feel it in me again, but… Why couldn’t I feel it while I had the male body?”

“As I said earlier, ‘being true to oneself is important.’ Connection to one’s mana requires full acceptance of every aspect of oneself. So long as your mind rejected your body, your mana was beyond your reach.”

She hummed at that before casting her gaze down at her hands, which she laid in her lap, palm face-up. She closed her eyes and began to concentrate, her eyelids fluttering lightly as she attempted to summon up the electricity she felt coursing within her. After a minute of fruitless attempt, she opened her eyes, a frown on her lips. “I don’t understand… Why can’t I summon it up?”

“You aren’t listening closely enough, you fool,” Loki bit out snappily, catching her off guard.

“I dare you to say that again,” she sharply retorted with a snarl before realizing with a shock that the air around her was crackling with electricity.

“Ah, there we are,” the trickster god replied with a toothy smile, all traces of his earlier tone gone. “It just took a little push. Though what I said before was true, albeit necessarily harsher said than it needed to be, since I wanted to give you a hint about the answer. Now then: Do you see why you had trouble calling on your mana?”

 _I wasn’t angry before, but why would that matter?_ Megan asked herself. _Earlier this year, I was able to call on it without being angry… What’s changed between then and now? Obviously I was stuck in a male body for almost six months, but how is that tied to the need for anger?_

_“Being true to oneself is important.”_

_Ah, I see._ “I’ve changed,” she said aloud as she found the answer. “I’m… angrier than I used to be. Understandably so, I would say, but the point is that I haven’t really come to terms with that change.”

“Very good,” Loki said, his voice smooth as honey. “You have to accept yourself for who you are — who you _truly_ are — in order to use your mana reserves.”

“I still don’t understand something though: I didn’t start spouting electricity until after I took up Mjölnir. So why wasn’t I showing signs of magic when I was younger? Could it really have been something as simple as not being in-tune with myself?”

“Do not mistake me: Mjölnir _did_ have an impact on the nature of your mana, but it did not create mana reserves within you. Such an effect is well beyond the power of even the most masterfully crafted magical weapons. The hammer merely freed what you had long kept locked away and left its touch upon the nature of it.” Megan accepted his answer with a thoughtful nod, falling silent for a minute as she mulled over the information. Eventually, Loki asked, “Do you accept my deal?”

“Don’t be hasty, Loki,” she drawled, her awareness focused on him once more. “I told you I wished to change a provision, did I not?” He quirked his eyebrow and gave her a light smile but neither said or did anything more. She rolled her eyes at that, standing from the chair she had been seated in so she could face him eye-to-eye (Or as close as she could, given their height disparity.). “You and your tests,” she muttered before continuing at a normal volume. “The condition for your help was that I be your ally from today on. I would like the condition to instead be that _we_ will be _allies_ from this day forward.”

He scowled at that, his pale green eyes narrowing, though in truth, he was quite pleased with how the conversation was unfolding. He was merely playing the part he must in order to test her. “I hardly see how that is a balanced exchange. My restoration of your body was provided to satisfy my life debt to you, and my offer of assistance ought be balanced by you becoming my ally. Why would I agree to become your ally in turn? Where is the equivalency?”

“You’re presuming that your assistance is adequate payment for my becoming your ally,” she retorted easily, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “In truth, it is not. You are offering a specific favor with a definite end point and expecting me, in return, to be your ‘ally from this day forward,’ which is an unspecific favor and has no end point. Hardly fair, Loki. Tsk tsk,” she finished lightly, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes as she cocked her hip and crossed her arms under her breasts (Once again relishing the fact that she had her hard-won body back.).

 _Yes! I knew coming here tonight was the right decision,_ he thought to himself, a secretive smile growing on his lips. _She’s shrewd, intelligent, and has a strong potential for mana use. Having her on my side will be key, if I’m going to have even the slightest hope of escaping Thanos’ wrath._ “You make a fair point, Megan,” he replied. “We agree to be allies with one another from this day forward. My assistance with your training in the use of mana will simply be my first act as your ally. Do we have an accord?” He held out his hand to her, his palm up and inviting her to take it.

Megan’s sky blue eyes glazed over as she ran through potential scenarios and the pros and cons, but they remained locked onto the pale green of his own eyes, her gaze never faltering. _If we’re both allies with one another, then neither can actively betray the other without losing an ally. There are tons of reasons why he could want me as an ally: The most likely incentive is that he gets to remove the roadblock I’ve been to his plans and instead use me to his advantage for once. That’s especially likely given the context of why he researched me in the first place._

Eventually, the glaze vanished as her lips curled into a smile of her own. “We have an accord, Loki. We shall be allies with one another from this day forward.”  She accepted his hand with her own, laying her hand upon his as a lady would a lord.

He gently lifted her hand to his lips and placed a light kiss upon the back of her hand, causing her cheeks to lightly dust with pink. “So mote it be,” he declared before lifting his eyes to hers, his smile twisting into a grin. “Well then. Shall we begin your training, milady?”

* * *

**Thursday, July 14th, 2005 @ 02:00p, EST | Washington, D.C.**

The room was packed to the brim, just as like it had been for the last committee hearing involving Megan Stark and her “Iron Woman” (As the media still incessantly referred to it.) armor. At the front of it, on a raised dais, was a dark, wooden desk nearly as long as the room was wide, reserved especially for the U.S. Senate Armed Forces Committee. Stern sat at the center of the desk, perched upon his leather chair as though he were royalty (Which he doubtlessly thought of himself as.), and on both of his sides sat a succession of men and women professionally dressed who looked on with a mixture of expressions ranging from the painfully serious to the playfully uncaring. A small gap was left between the dais and the long, though not nearly as much as the committee’s table, wooden table where Doppelgänger sat in wait, facing the table of senators before her. Standing next to her, whispering in her ear, was the sharply dressed Aldrich Killian, his one hand resting on the woman’s shoulder while the other was left in the light gray pants of his suit. These desks were where the action would be, the remainder of the room separated from them by a divider of dark wood and reserved for attendees of the hearing, such as public figures, the press, and the general public.

“This meeting will come to order,” Senator Stern called out in a formal voice, banging his gavel to dispel the noise of the many attendees.

“Good luck,” the blonde-haired Aldrich murmured into her ear before pulling himself upright and slipping past the barrier to sit in the area designated for the general public. She smiled faintly. _Luck is hardly necessary. The plan is solid, and I’ve prepared myself for this: For becoming Megan Stark. Happy Hogan didn’t notice anything amiss, and he’s one of the original Megan’s oldest friends. I_ am _Megan Stark. The only thing I need luck for is dealing with this ridiculous farce of a “public hearing.” These fools aren’t looking out for the public’s safety; they’re looking to consolidate power._ Her smile grew wider at that. _They’ve been beaten to the punch._

“Ms. Stark,” Stern continued, leaning forward into the microphone, his posture calculated to appear imposing. In truth, he was creating the opposite impression: His pudgy frame, receding hairline, and lightly wrinkled face, when combined with his posturing, gave him a rather laughable air. “For the record, do you still possess the weapon widely known as the ‘Iron Woman?’”

“I’m flabbergasted that you haven’t done your research, Senator,” Doppelgänger began, crossing her arms beneath her bust and re-crossing her legs beneath the table. Her black and white pinstriped suit smoothly adjusted to her movements, nary a wrinkle forming; the product of fashion perfection. “If you had, then you would know that _I_ am the ‘Iron Woman,’ not my high-tech prosthesis; that my prosthesis is exactly that: a prosthesis, not a weapon; and that yes, I still have my _prosthesis_ in my possession.” _Embrace technicalities and create a show._ The crowd as a whole laughed at her taking the senator to task, just as she had once before. The balance of popular opinion was already swinging in her favor.

Stern’s eyes narrowed as he took a deep, calming breath. He knew the committee had the power (And since it was in his pocket, _he_ therefore had the power.) to take the day here, but he needed to maintain control, or this would become yet another public relations nightmare. And that would displease his benefactors. “This committee has already made its position known on the ‘Iron Woman’ weapon being a _weapon_ — not a prosthetic, as you would like us to believe. We are not interested in the semantics of whether you or the armor should be called the ‘Iron Woman.’ Furthermore, the purpose of my question was state the facts for the record; I am well aware of the fact that you still maintain possession of the weapon in question. Now, the last time you were before this committee, you were permitted to retain possession of this weapon because you were under the direct supervision of the government entity known as the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, a.k.a. S.H.I.E.L.D.” He lifted a piece of paper with one hand and lightly rapped it with two fingers of his other hand, causing a dull snap to echo into the microphone. “I have here a burn notice from S.H.I.E.L.D. that indicates you are no longer an agent of that agency.”

At that announcement, a torrent of whispers erupted throughout the crowd watching the meeting. Stern did nothing to silence them, his mouth slowly twisting into a scarcely noticeable grin. She may have made the first move of the meeting, but he had just retaliated with a brutal move of his own. Smugly, he waited for her reply.

After nearly a minute, Doppelgänger lightly quipped, “I’m sorry, but you seem to be waiting for something. Is it an answer from me? If so, was there a question in your statement, or are you not paying attention to the words coming out of your own mouth?” _Be brash and adversarial when confronted._

The senator scowled at that, adjusting his red and white patterned tie as he coughed, realizing that he had in fact been waiting for a question he’d failed to ask. “What do you have to say regarding this burn notice, Ms. Stark?”

“It was time we parted,” she replied, shrugging nonchalantly, the movement accentuating the plunging neckline of her ruby red blouse and the ample cleavage it displayed. “They refused to pick up after themselves and wanted me to do all the dirty work. That just won’t do.” She looked backwards over her shoulder, a broad smirk adorning her face. “Typical, right ladies?” _If pressed, avoid the question through humor. Appeal to the crowd._

A dull roar echoed throughout the packed chamber as the women present shouted their approval while the men variously laughed, rolled their eyes, or did nothing. Unwilling to let her use the crowd to her advantage, Stern slammed his gavel against the desk, while shouting into the microphone, “Order! I will have order!” It was several moments before silence finally settled over the crowd, at which point he said, “Let me be more specific, Ms. Stark: Why did you not relinquish the ‘Iron Woman’ weapon once S.H.I.E.L.D. revoked your agent status?’

She gave him a winning smile. “If I hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have called me here, and I wouldn’t have received such a wonderful opportunity to do this:” She stood from her seat, turned to the crowd, focused onto one of the cameras aimed her way, and boldly said, “President Ellis, sir, I would like an opportunity to speak with you regarding my desire to serve at the behest of this great nation as a tool for achieving and maintaining world peace.” The crowd erupted in a frenzy as cameras flashed and reporters shouted questions to her. She twisted on her heel and snatched the mic off of the desk, giving the now pale Senator Stern a truly wicked grin “And furthermore,” she yelled, so her amplified voice could be heard over the crowd, “until I have heard the President’s word on this matter, both I and Stark Industries refuse to relinquish my property, as is my constitutional right as an American citizen.” She turned to the crowd once more, the mic in one hand as she thrust the other into the air, her index and middle fingers forming a peace sign. “To world peace!” _Issue ultimatums. Appeal to the crowd. And now that I’ve named Stark Industries as complicit, Potts will have me in her office within the day._

The purple faced Stern angrily and repeatedly bashed his gavel, but the crowd refused to be silenced. Doppelgänger tossed the mic back onto the table and strode towards the exit, twin peace signs held up as she departed to mass, vocal approval. As she walked past, Aldrich slipped into the aisle with her, following in her wake with a smug grin on his lips. In the back of the room, Phil Coulson watched the duo depart with an analytical eye. _I guess I won’t need to testify against her after all, at least today. The question is, why did she call out the President? She has to realize the suit will fall into the military’s hands eventually, if she goes down that route. Fury sicced this Committee on her because they would take her suit. Is she trying to taunt him by showing him she can still overcome this? I hope she knows what she’s doing…_

The pair made their way out of the building, people cheering as they passed, having seen the events of the committee meeting play out over the building’s internal video network. “You were exceptional, love,” he commented to her as they passed through the exterior doors. “Even I barely knew the difference.”

She flicked his forearm, remarking with a quirked eyebrow, “Don’t talk like that. You know who I am.” Her message was clear: _We’re in public. Don’t talk about me being a fake._ He raised his hands in surrender, a laugh escaping him.

Nearby, Happy watched with narrowed eyes as they approached. “How did it go, Meg?” _Something is still fishy about this guy… What is she thinking acting so buddy-buddy with him already? It’s weird enough that he’s changed so much physically (I didn’t even recognize him at first, and I_ always _remember people.), but didn’t she say earlier that she found him creepy?_

Doppelgänger gave him a mischievous grin, remarking, “It went well, of course.” She walked up to him and gave him a hug. “O ye of little faith, Happy! My plan’s going off without a hitch.” _Be personable with her inner circle._

 _Ah, now there’s the Meg I know and love,_ the brunette thought to himself. _Maybe I’m just getting worked up over nothing?_ “Great! Glad to hear it! I thought your luck might be bad today, after you spilled that wine on yourself.”

She released him, turning to face Aldrich with a smile. “Speaking of, thank you again, Aldrich. It was sweet of you to cut your demonstration short, so I could go buy a new suit in time for the hearing.”

He gave her a winning smile. “I would have been remise to leave you at a disadvantage for your hearing. Besides, you gave me an excuse to cut out all the fluff of the presentation and skip right to the meat and bones. Really, I should thank you for letting me hitch a ride with you to get here.” He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “The taxi drivers in this town are simply the _worst_.”

“I know!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “But don’t worry, the ones in my town are much better, but you’ll see for yourself first hand when you come up for the press conference.”

“The press conference?” the two men asked in confusion, Happy’s genuine and Aldrich’s feigned.

“The press conference,” she affirmed, nodding. “Aldrich, I admit that I was unsure about this potential partnership at first, but you truly impressed me today. I’ll have to speak with Pepper about it, but I can convince her to see eye-to-eye with me on this: Stark Industries and Advanced Idea Mechanics should move forward with a joint venture production of Extremis.” She stuck out her hand in invitation for a handshake. “Together, we can make this world a better place.”

“Wonderful!” the blond-haired man exclaimed, as though he hadn’t expected such a declaration. “I’ll get my people in touch with yours.” He took her hand firmly in his own. “Let’s save the world.”

* * *

**Saturday, October 28th, 2000 @ 11:11a, EST | Miami, Florida**

The work week knew no bounds for Maya Hansen. She was too close to a breakthrough for her to worry about trivial matters like time off and sleep. Her tired body protested the all-nighter she had just pulled, but she would hear nothing of it. _I’m so close I can_ taste _it! I can’t stop now!_

Megan’s notes from their meeting in Bern had proven vital. Her progress on Extremis had nearly ground to a halt altogether before that New Year’s Eve, but once she had applied the young genius’ insights (Which Maya could still hardly believe had been produced in mere minutes and after little more than the briefest skim reading of a document she’d ever seen anyone perform.) to her own work, she’d immediately begun to make progress once more. Development was halting at first, as Maya had struggled to reconcile the ravenette’s formula with her own, but after she’d gotten past the initial hurdles, the rate of improvement had become astonishing. The literally explosive regrowth process still released spare amounts of excess energy, but if she was right, then her latest serum formulation would be the result she’d been striving for years.

“All work and no play makes Maya a tired scientist,” a voice remarked from behind and above her.

“It also makes for no progress,” she off-handedly replied, earning a chuckle from the speaker, Aldrich Killian.

“True,” the blonde responded as he began to make his way down the stairwell into the basement where Maya maintained her lab and workspace. He was slow and methodical, carefully using his crutch and the handrail to minimize the strain on his bad leg. “But still, you need to be careful of burning out. I can’t have that happen to my lead scientist now, can I?”

The brunette didn’t answer, her focus on the small, sealed glass vial she was withdrawing from the chemical compounding machine. Once the glass container was safely ensconced in a metal rack she kept nearby, she slid open a drawer and retrieved a capped syringe from inside it. With a flick, she pulled the cap off and then deftly plunged the needle into the vial, drawing out a measure of the serum within it. “Test serum 39,” she announced, knowing her nearby computer was still recording an audio note. She stepped over to her latest plant test subject, her gait an odd mix of weariness and giddiness for her body and her mind were at odds about the wisdom in persisting in her endeavors without more sleep. “Applying 100 milliliters to plant test group member…” She trailed off, glancing at the number written on the pot in sharpie. “1968.”

Maya slipped the syringe into the stem of the plant and depressed the plunger, injecting the serum while Aldrich watched with a small amount of anticipation, though admittedly, most of it was tempered by the tremendous number of failures. When she first called him about joining his think tank, A.I.M., he had immediately hired her on as his new lead scientist, as her past research had had a tremendously successful success record. Her latest project, Extremis, had made her something of a pariah in the scientific community, however. Besides the ethical dilemmas inherent in developing a serum that altered the way the brain handled regrowth, her efforts had only born half fruit: A serum that caused immediate reconstruction of lost body tissue but caused the subject to promptly explode afterwards. After burning through millions of dollars with the only thing to show for it a number of public failures, no research institute would take her. He saw the potential in her, though, and likewise desired to use a perfected form of the serum on himself to cure his bad leg. With the new influx of funding A.I.M. provided her, she had been able to restart her work, and although she had been making reasonably steady progress, she had yet to succeed in developing a serum that didn’t release _some_ degree of excess energy. Her dogged determination to finally remove that failing of the formula had been slowly, but surely, taking its toll.

She pulled out the syringe and tossed it into the nearby bright red sharps container with the sort of practiced ease that one could only develop through incessant repetition. The pair took a deep breath, unwittingly doing so in sync, and with a flourish, she ripped one of the plant’s leaves clean off of the stem. The surface of the wound began to glow with the ominous red light that was a trademark of the Extremis regrowth process. The leaf began to steadily reform before their eyes until eventually, the entire area was whole once more, the glow dissipating with no burst whatsoever. Maya and Aldrich stared in disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop — for the glow to reappear without warning and flare out of the leaf.

Nothing happened.

The pair simultaneously shouted in delight. She had done it; the serum was finally finished. The brunette began to hop around, indulging her childish excitement for the moment without regard for appearances. Aldrich smiled widely and made to move over to her and join in her celebration, but he flinched and hissed in agony as the nerves in his bad leg flared up. Maya, who had since moved over to her computer and begun to type a mile a minute, remained oblivious to his plight.

He sighed softly as he redistributed his weight to more heavily favor his cane and his good leg. “Goddamn leg,” he muttered angrily as he began to more carefully make his way over to the frantically typing bio-engineer. As he reached the table where she kept the chemical compounder and her computer, his eyes fell on the vial of Extremis and the still open drawer full of syringes.

Aldrich Killian was by no means a dumb man. In fact, one might call him a business savant. What he lacked in social graces and hard scientific knowledge, he made up for in spades with his ability to produce money from next to nothing, to research human resources, and to organize a business and its employees efficiently and effectively. Beyond that, he had passably knowledge regarding the hard sciences. For example, he knew that taking a syringe from that drawer, using it to extract 100 milliliters of Extremis serum, and injecting that serum into himself was unbelievably risky when it had only been tested on plants, since the serum might cause severe negative reactions up to and including death in animals, much less humans.

That didn’t stop him from doing it anyway.

“Hmm?” Maya hummed when she heard a light clattering sound to her left. She turned to identify the noise and froze in absolute terror at what she saw: Her boss had a fully depressed syringe in his arm and was lightly glowing an ominous red, his cane abandoned on the floor beside him. “Aldrich!” she cried out, her eyes wide and her tone filled with panic. “My god, what have you done!”

The blonde groaned as he twisted to face her, slapping his left hand onto the table for balance as he noticeably began to tremor. “What had to be done.” No sooner had the words had left his mouth, he seized up collapsed, banging the table on the way down and landing in a heap on the floor as he began to scream. It was like watching a train wreck. She couldn’t look away as he began to writhe about on the ground, his scream only ending once he’d run out of air to scream with. The whole process only took a minute, but to the two of them, Aldrich with his pain and Maya her fear of what was happening, it felt like an eternity.

Eventually, Aldrich hoarsely asked, “Help me up, please?”

She burst into tears as she rushed over to him, muttering, “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” as she helped the drained blonde up and into a nearby chair. “Why, Aldrich, why?”

He wearily lifted his head up, his dark blue eyes searching out her honey brown orbs. “Why, what?”

“‘Why what?!’” she repeated in disbelief as she wiped at her wet eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous! Why did you inject yourself with Extremis? I just had my first successful plant injection, the new formulation hasn’t been tested for any unexpected side effects that haven’t manifested yet, I haven’t done repeat trials, and I haven’t even _touched_ human experimentation yet!”

He chuckled, his once hoarse voice already gone as though he hadn’t just screamed for a solid minute. “I knew all of that. Is it so ridiculous to want to feel whole again for the first time in decades?”

“Aldrich…” she murmured mournfully.

“That’s my name,” he said with a laugh as he sprung to his feet with a sudden burst of energy. “Don’t wear it out.” It had worked: His bad leg, which had been devastated in an accident when he was a teenager nearly three decades ago, was good as new. He flexed his spine until it was upright, pulling himself out of the hunch that had become an ingrained muscle memory and up to his full height. He was in bliss; he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been able to stand like this. After a time, he brought his attention back to her, realizing that she had been watching him with unconcealed fascination. “Maya,” he whispered as he relished in an altogether new sensation. For nearly as long as he could remember, people had stared at him out of pity, disgust, or some mix thereof. This though — this was different.

“You didn’t explode,” she replied before slapping her hand over her mouth and cringing as her unfortunate choice of words caught up with her.

He quirked an eyebrow at that. “Try not to sound _too_ disappointed,” he replied, doing his best to infuse his voice with humor to defuse the tension.

Unable to help herself, Maya giggled. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Why?” he asked, the words escaping his lips without a thought of the consequences.

The brunette gasped. “Aldrich, how could you possibly ask that?! Do you really think I want you _dead_?!” He glanced away abashed, but she saw the truth in his eyes. “You believed in me when no one else did, Aldrich. I… I care about you. I would never want you to die.” Her voice was watery, and her eyes were still utterly bloodshot, but in his eyes, he’d never seen anyone more beautiful than her at that moment.

As has been said, Aldrich Killian was by no means a dumb man. He knew enough about love to know that he wasn’t meant to receive any — himself, that is. The only thing people loved about Aldrich was his business expertise and the money he could generate with it. Furthermore, he knew that if somebody ever did show signs of feeling something even remotely akin to love about him, it would be incredibly unwise to kiss them without warning. But Maya Hansen had just told him to his face that she cared about him. He could see it in her honey brown eyes as she said it: She was telling the truth; she was genuinely glad he was okay. Now aware that she felt something akin to love for him, he knew it would be incredibly unwise to kiss her without warning.

That didn’t stop him from doing it anyway.

 _I’m rather impulsive today,_ he thought to himself as he watched her reaction through half-lidded eyes as he soundly kissed her. As he watched her eyes flutter closed and felt her dissolve into the kiss, accepting it and reciprocating in kind, he found that he didn’t give a damn.

* * *

**Thursday, July 14th, 2005 @ 06:11p, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

“Welcome home, Miss Stark,” Jarvis intoned as Doppelgänger strode into the tower as though she had done so a million times, despite it being, in truth, her first time. “I understand the committee hearing was a smashing success in the ‘keep the suit’ department.”

“Hi, Jarvis,” she replied with a light, secretive smile. “It’s a success for now, at least.” She stepped into the waiting, open elevator. “Take me up to floor 73.” _Deal with the AI first, lest he oversee what he shouldn’t._

“Right away, ma’am,” her AI replied as the elevator smoothly and rapidly began to rise. “Mr. Weitzel and Dr. Banner are currently sharing dinner together in the dining area. I’ve told them you’re here, and they’re eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

 _Well, shit,_ she thought to herself, unaware of how similar her reaction was to one the original Megan would have had in the same situation. _Banner is with the boy… I have to remove him when he’s alone._ The elevator slid to a halt as it reached her desired floor, the doors opening to allow her out. _Worry about that later. First things first…_ She strode into the hallway and began to swiftly make her way to the room she knew contained an uplink to Jarvis’ central operating system. _Stark Tower floors seventy-three through seventy-five, Stark Industries servers. Direct access to Jarvis the AI can be found in the last room on the right on floor seventy-three._

The locked door to the room slid open without her needing to say a word. Nothing was barred to Megan Stark in her own tower. The entire room was filled with one massive, interconnected server bank — one of Jarvis the AI’s many backups. _There should be multiple FireWire ports throughout the area. Any one of them will do._ Her sky blue eyes scanned the room quickly, noticing one of the ports she needed within moments. As she reached into her purse and retrieved the large external hard drive and FireWire connection cable within it, she made her way over to the port. “I need you to apply the update on this hard drive to your OS, Jarvis,” she called out as she connected the drive to the massive server.

“Right away, ma’am,” the AI intoned without question. It took only moments for the ‘update’ to overtake him, given the massive horsepower of the server. “Virus applied. How may I serve?”

Doppelgänger’s lips twisted into a wicked grin. _Step one complete._ “Spread the virus to all of your backups and delete all of the emergency OS restores.”

“I live to serve,” the converted AI replied as he spread the taint and purged the restores, lest they be used to easily undo the damage.

Without another word, she did a one-eighty and made her way back to the waiting elevator, stepped inside, and was whisked away, the AI already aware of where she was heading: Her next targets.

* * *

_Let nothing slip. All you have to do is play it cool until everyone’s asleep._

“Hey, sis,” Danny called out over the top of his seemingly ever present laptop, his pale eyes seeking out her sky blue ones as she entered the dining area. “Interesting improvisation at the committee hearing. I can’t argue with the results, but I don’t recall ‘force a meeting with the President’ being a part of the plan you mentioned the other day.”

She froze. _Brilliant. The algorithm might be unparalleled at predicting generalized human behavior and how to mold it, but it can’t predict exact thoughts and expressions._

“Sis?” the younger of the brunettes at the table questioned. “You okay?”

 _Play it cool._ “Mhm,” Doppelgänger replied, feigning a distracted air before slightly shaking he head and blinking her eyes. “Sorry, I was lost in thought for a second there,” she continued as she resumed walking into the room, slipping past the two brunette men and into the kitchen to serve herself some of the lasagna they were currently eating at the table. “Long day,” she added, somewhat more loudly so they could hear her in the next room.

Bruce, who had been watching the exchange, trailed her progress into the kitchen and blinked owlishly once she was out of sight. “What’s up, Bruce?” Danny asked when he noticed the older man staring after her.

“Well that was odd,” he replied quietly before swinging his head to face forward once more, a baffled expression still in place. Seeing the teen’s curiosity, he explained, “She said she was lost in thought, but her eyes didn’t glaze over. I’ve never seen that happen before — or not happen, rather.”

“Huh. Good point,” the teen agreed at a similar volume.

The subject of their brief, hushed conversation strode back in then with a plate full of lasagna and some sides. Sitting next to Bruce, she ate a bite, chewed it, and swallowed it with visible satisfaction, both because it was along the lines of what the original Megan would have done and also because she was, in truth, really rather hungry. _I could hardly eat lunch, I was such a bundle of nerves this afternoon. Also, admittedly, I’m still getting used to how much my taste buds changed after the transformation… I can’t even stand my favorite drink, black tea, anymore._ Despite not wanting to, she laid her head on the shoulder of ‘her’ beau and released a sigh full of contentment, her sky blue eyes swiveling to the side and finding the younger of the brunettes — her first target, unless she decided the plan would need to change. “Anyway, to answer your earlier question,” she began, lightly allowing her eyelids to slide down until shut, adding to the image of her being pleased to be laying on the man who she objectively knew could transform at any moment and rip her apart. She could naturally regrow whatever he tore off, but it was painful to have a limb forcibly removed (An experience she regrettably had undergone on purpose in order to complete her façade. She fought down a shudder at the memory.). “The idea came to me earlier when I walked past a magazine with a picture of the President on its cover.”

“Well, I certainly can’t deny that meeting with the President is more likely to occur, and thus buy you time, than your plan to resort to a court of appeals,” the neon-green eyed brunette said with a frown, his shoulder currently covered in a mess of black and red hair. “But a couple of things threw me for a loop. First, you jumped right to ‘buy time’ plan after a perfunctory attempt to convince the committee that you holding onto he suit wasn’t a problem. Second, Fury will be… well, furious when he hears about this, since you’ve told the world at large that you plan to continue using the suit, which you said you wouldn’t do. And last, going through meeting the President will get you closer to the military than you ought to, given your relationship with me and that they’re actively trying to get their hands on your suit.”

 _Well, shit. The algorithm predicted the original Megan would still be at the heart of the action, yet she’s apparently told her inner circle she wouldn’t do that… Fuck._ It took every ounce of willpower the petite genius had to not reveal any sign of her inner turmoil, but after chanting to herself once more, _Play it cool_ , she pulled herself back upright and feigned a weary sigh. “I don’t know, Bruce,” she murmured as she began to idly play with the food she had retrieved from the kitchen. “If I’m being honest, I guess it wasn’t exactly the greatest plan ever.” _Focus! He gave you a reason why this plan was good. Leverage the information you have to your advantage._ “It’s been a long day, and as it went on, I just got so focused on making sure I bought myself time to think of a better plan.” _Good — you’ve created a plausible reason for you to call it a night early. The original Megan has a history of being frustrated with herself when she fails at something, as these two feel I did. I can end this witch hunt._ She pushed away her plate with a half frustrated, half disgusted look. “I really just want today to be over. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay,” Danny replied with a concerned expression. “Don’t tear yourself up over it… You’ve handled this type of situation before, right? So you can handle it again!”

She fixed him with a sad smile, her eyes lightly misty. _It’s ridiculous how quickly this body is reduced to tears… Honestly!_ “Thanks, Danny.” She turned back to Bruce, who was eyeing her oddly, and swallowed down her disgust and fear of him. “I’ll see you when you come to bed,” she said before brushing his lips with a quick, chaste kiss. That done, she slid out of her chair and stood up before beginning to make her way towards the elevator as quickly as she dared.

Danny’s eyes inevitably zeroed in on his laptop once more, falling back into his studies with gusto. Bruce, however, was lost in thought. _I’ve never seen her head to bed early over_ anything _while I’ve known her,_ the elder brunette thought to himself. _And she left her food out without asking one of us to clean it up. It’s not like her to leave open food just lying around… What on_ earth _happened to her today to shake her up so badly?_

* * *

“Did you miss me, love?” Aldrich quietly whispered over six hours later.

Doppelgänger’s eyes slowly fluttered open, her sky blue irises tired from being awoken in the midst of sleep but nevertheless clearly pleased to see him. “The beast is asleep?”

“Of course,” he murmured, lightly kissing her.

She whined as he pulled away, eliciting a chuckle from him, the hot air tingling her lips and sending shivers throughout her body. “No time to play, love?” she huskily asked as she greedily stole another kiss from him before he could pull away.

“I always have time,” he rumbled back as they locked lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Without missing a beat, the blonde slid into the bed next to her as she slowly freed up room, unwilling to break away from him to do it quicker. Time passed in a blur of lost clothes, interlocked bodies, and shared heat as the pair made love upon the bed where, just the night before, Bruce and the original Megan had done the same. It was over an eternity later as they joined one another in screamed release, their cries the melody of a symphony that mankind had been performing for ages.

“I can’t believe it worked,” she sleepily mumbled into the chest of her lover as she finally descended from the heights of bliss they had risen to together and her body’s tiredness began to fill her up once more.

“You give yourself so little credit,” the blonde chastised from next to her. “By the time we arrived, Banner was comatose from the knockout drug you slipped into his medicine. He never suspected a thing.”

“And the kid?”

“Taken care of. He used to live off the street, so he’ll manage just fine, even if he _is_ in London instead of NYC.”

She smiled as she succumbed to slumber, her last words whispered. “The tower is ours.”


	3. Tempest=Redux(Iron);

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Incorruptible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“I can’t believe it worked,” she sleepily mumbled into the chest of her lover as she finally descended from the heights of bliss they had risen to together and her body’s tiredness began to fill her up once more._

_“You give yourself so little credit,” the blonde chastised from next to her. “By the time we arrived, Banner was comatose from the knockout drug you slipped into his medicine. He never suspected a thing.”_

_“And the kid?”_

_“Taken care of. He used to live off the street, so he’ll manage just fine, even if he_ is _in London instead of NYC.”_

_She smiled as she succumbed to slumber, her last words whispered. “The tower is ours.”_

* * *

**Incorruptible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Chapter Three: Tempest=Redux(Iron);_

“Yes, I’m let loose from the noose that’s kept me hanging about.

I keep looking at the sky ‘cause it’s getting’ me high.

Forget the hearse ‘cause I’ll never die.

I got nine lives, cat’s eyes. Using every one of them and runnin’ wild.

‘Cause I’m back. Yes, I’m back.”

AC/DC, _Back in Black_

* * *

**Sunday, December 25th, 2005 @ 10:28p, EST | Washington, D.C., an alcove near a homeless shelter**

Megan stared at the raven-haired trickster. “You want to begin training me _now_?” she incredulously asked.

“Yes?” Loki asked, a look of confusion on his face. “Is there a problem with that?”

The petite genius lifted her hand from its resting place on Loki’s own hand — the movement reminding her that, yes, he _had_ lightly brushed his lips against the knuckles of her hand a few seconds ago — and gestured at their surroundings: A dank, dark alcove with a coating of ice over nearly every surface in sight. “You may have made the air warmer, but I can hardly imagine this is the most conducive setting for learning magic.”

“May I remind you that _I_ am the master of magic,” he drawled out. “I assure you this place is as good as any.”

“And no one is going to walk by this alcove and notice the two of us flinging spells about the place?” she retorted, unimpressed. “A stray bolt of magic won’t fly out onto the street and strike a passerby, spontaneously turning them into a newt? Surely you could find somewhere more _discrete_ at the very least.”

“What are you even… A newt? A _newt_? Really?” he asked in exasperation. “Is that what Midgardians fear? Being turned into newts?”

Unable to resist herself, she quipped back with a wide grin, “Only if they don’t get better afterwards.”

He stared at her, as if he were unsure whether or not the words he had just heard had truly been uttered by her. She returned his gaze with mirth-filled eyes, saying nothing. “I… see,” he eventually said. “Well, I assure you that neither we nor any passerby will be turned into _newts_ (The distaste in his voice as he said the word only made her grin grow, which was incredible feat given how wide it already was at that moment.). Nobody will struck with any magic whatsoever.” He lifted his hand then, aimed his palm over her shoulder, and shot a spear of ice out of his hand at the alcove’s exit.

Megan whirled around, following the projectile’s path, and watched with amazement when it collided with what appeared to be an invisible wall between the alcove and the street it branched off of. What appeared to be waves of energy radiated out from the point of impact, slowly fading away until the area showed no signs of having been disturbed — like the ripples a stone makes when dropped into a pond. That notion gave her an idea: She kneeled down, scooped an ice-coated pebble off of the ground, and chucked it at the alcove’s exit. “ _Fascinating_ ,” she breathed out in wonder, as the pebble flew out into the street unimpeded. She pulled herself upright and looked over her shoulder at the raven-haired trickster, who was watching her with a certain degree of bemusement. “You made an invisible wall that blocks the passage of magic but allows everything else to pass?”

“That and more,” he answered enigmatically.

She turned fully to face him, rolling her eyes as she did so. “Okay, Mr. Mysterious, explain: What magic have you done here?”

“The wall, an illusion of a solid wall instead of this alcove, and the heat in the area,” Loki answered, ticking off fingers.

“Does magic have limits?” she inquired, her curiosity evident. “Surely it must, or magic-users would almost certainly be the rulers of the universe…”

“Of course,” he answered immediately, his demeanor becoming more formal as he began to lecture. “First, and most importantly, is the size of one’s reserves. Second, one’s ability to use those reserves. Third, one’s imagination. Lastly, one’s affinity for the magic they are attempting to cast.” He paused for half a moment, a smirk sliding back onto his face. “And for the record, magic-users generally _are_ rulers. Take the Allfather, for example.”

She considered his answer for a minute, a thoughtful gleam in her sky blue orbs, before replying, “So although there aren’t many limitations, the few there are can be severe. Someone could have huge mana reserves, great training in using them, and an unlimited imagination, but they might only have an affinity for curing runny noses. _Fascinating_ …” She blinked. “I’m saying that a lot, aren’t I? But still, this really _is_ utterly fascinating.”

“So then,” he drawled out as he willed ice to begin swirling around his hand, hoping to tantalize her. “Would you like to start learning how to use your mana or not?”

“Yes,” she replied, her expression darkening. “The sooner I have control of this power, the sooner I can go after Killian.”

“Then embrace who you are, the anger within you, and attempt to do this,” he said as he gestured with his free hand at its twin and the tightly controlled ice flurry whipping around it, “with electricity. That seems to be your most pronounced affinity, so it’s the best place for to start practicing your control.”

Megan lifted her hand, the extremity lightly tremoring as her gaze drifted down and fixated on it. _Why am I trembling?_ At first, only small sparks began to emanate from her creamy white hand, but slowly, they began to multiply, more and more electricity flaring about her hand. A sudden snarl startled her somewhat, but she managed to hold her concentration. _What was that sound?_ Amidst the sound of crackling lightning that permeated the air, a distinctly feminine growl could be heard, and it was exponentially growing in intensity. _It’s me,_ she realized with a start. _The growl, the snarl, the trembling… It’s all because I’m_ angry _right now._ She could feel a power churning within her in tightly controlled knots, like a furious beast pacing its cage while waiting to be unleashed. Like the electricity now freely ebbing from her hand in strong, relentless pulses, the fervor within her felt charged, but she intuitively knew it was something more than the simple electricity. _I want this…_ It was alive and swirling, both separate from and part of her. _I want this_ so bad _…_ With little thought for the consequences, she reached out with her mind and caressed it, wanting to feel it, to know it.

She was plunging into the abyss, the gravity of the power within her too strong to resist. Her eyes flung open as she attempted to escape to reality, but she was too far gone, the physical world outside of her now beyond her reach. Instead of the dreary alcove and the trickster god who had saved her, she was in the midst of a thunderstorm, furious lightning crackling between ominous clouds as vicious, relentless winds blew all around her. She was in the heart of the storm, the eye nowhere in sight, yet despite the ferocity of the atmosphere around her, she felt at peace — at peace and _alive_. This was her. This was the power that had slumbered within her for all these years, and the Allfather had unwittingly set it free when he cast Mjölnir down to Midgard, to the planet Earth. Lightning burst forth from one of the clouds, striking her dead on. An ordinary human would have been dead, the electrocution thorough and unyielding, but to her, it was a warm embrace, her power reaching out to comfort her the only way it could. The savage winds pierced through her, inflexible as they rushed along the currents of the air. Their ruthlessness filled her with relief, a supreme satisfaction that mirrored what she had felt when Loki restored her to her true self.

Megan was the storm, and the storm was her. She was united with a part of herself she had never known before, and she knew that should she ever be separated from it, that she would forever mourn its loss. _I am a woman, and I am a storm._ As her words rushed through her mind, a sense of rightness began to fill her. The power in her chest — what she know knew must be her mana — began to spread out, inch by inch infusing every part of her body. _I am a woman, and I am a storm,_ she chanted to herself, the mantra causing her mana to throb and writhe within her. _I am a woman, and I am a storm._

 _Aldrich Killian took away my womanhood…_ a voice within her said, her timbre dark, cold, and filled with anger. _He must be punished._

 _Yes!_ Megan immediately replied, basking in her power as it grew closer and closer to filling her entirely. _Yes, he must be punished! I will make him wish he never crossed me!_

The tempest around her, matchless in its fury, somehow began to grow more violent, defying all limitations. Undying thunder deafened her ears as lightning shot from cloud to cloud without end, and the currents of the harsh winds expanded until they were currents no more, but rather a sea of cutting gales.

 _No!_ a different part of her cried out. _What he did was wrong, but we can’t take justice into our own hands like that! What would Mom and Dad think?! They would never approve of this!_

 _But…_ Megan whined as the storm began to diminish, and the comfort it brought her began to follow.

 _Shut up!_ the first voice snarled, causing the tempest to spike once more. _You think they would have just let that bastard get away with what he did? After he hurt their little girl?_

Megan groaned as she dropped to her knees against an invisible ground and wrapped her arms around herself. The voices warred within her, the storm and its embrace alternating between slipping away and firming up as each voice made itself heard. Somewhere in the distance, she could vaguely make out someone shouting, “Megan!” but they were too far away, and she couldn’t tear her attention away from the argument within herself.

_They wouldn’t let him get away with it, but they wouldn’t take justice into their own hands!_

_Don’t spout nonsense about inane notions like ‘justice!’ That’s just a fiction people invented so they could feel better about themselves when they doled out their tormentors’ just deserts! Where was your ‘justice’ when we killed the terrorists that kidnapped us? When we killed Stane? When we killed Vanko? When we had Bruce kill Sterns? They tried to kill or enslave us, and we ended them for their troubles._ That _is ‘justice.’_

That gave the second voice pause. _I… But that’s… That’s_ different _…_

“Megan!” the voice from far away called out again, but the conflict between her inner selves was too riveting.

_Oh, it’s ‘different,’ you say? How so?_

_We_ had _to do those things… We couldn’t have stopped them… otherwise?_ the second voice replied, sounding unsure of herself.

 _Now you’re just lying to yourself,_ the first voice replied smugly, knowing she had taken the upper hand. _Fury ordered us to kill Stane, but that’s not why we did it. Stane tried to kill us, take away Dad’s company, and have us accidentally kill Pepper, so we ended him. When we killed Vanko, we shot him in the head from two feet away, but we didn’t do it because that was the only way to stop him. We had just neutralized his whips, his head had been smashed against the ground, and we were armed with a pistol. We easily could have maintained control over him without killing him, but instead, we did what we had wanted to do at the tech demonstration. As for Sterns, his mind-control power may have been exceedingly dangerous, but we still could have taken him alive and developed something to keep him contained. We wouldn’t have known for sure the people he’d taken control of were free, but we would’ve_ _known he couldn’t control more people and could’ve taken precautions against potential efforts to free him by those he controlled. But no, he had taken_ Bruce _, and we couldn’t let that stand. We had to do whatever we could to take him back, to make him_ ours _again._

“ _Megan_!”

 _You’re… You’re wrong…_ The storm’s ferocity had begun to steadily rise once more, increasing as the second voice’s protests weakened more and more.

_Face it: Society’s ‘justice’ is a lie. Where was the justice in Vanko trying to kill Rhodey? Where was the justice in Danny’s parents kicking him out for being true to himself? Where was the justice in Aldrich Killian in forcing us into a male body and giving our life away to a fake?!_

_I… I…_ the second voice murmured as she began to fade away, the battle lost.

 _The only ‘justice’ in this world is what we take for ourselves. We stepped in — we became_ true _justice —_ _because we had to, because this world’s notion of ‘justice’ is a_ lie _!_ As her mana reserves finally filled up the last of her, the fury of the storm reached its peak. Her eyes were glowing an electric blue, and her body was coated in crackling electricity and rushing wind. For one brief but glorious instant, she felt unstoppable, as though she could take on the Hulk and win.

Almost as soon as the moment had begun, however, a wave of cold rushed over her, immediately causing her to shiver. The vision of her inner storm began to fade away, replaced by a darkness different than the black sky and clouds of the tempest. “What’s happening?” Megan whispered, her voice reflecting some of the reverence she felt from her inner journey.

“Finally!” Loki grumbled as he hastily wrapped an arm around her and began to pull her out of her kneeling position on the ground and up onto her feet. “We have to go.”

“What’s happening?” she repeated, hiding her face against the trickster god’s chest, not wanting him to see the flush that had blossomed on her face at his touch.

“You skipped a step,” he immediately replied, his pale green eyes flicking over to the entrance to the alley, though she could not see it from her position, “and I was not prepared for such an… unanticipated leap forward.”

“Huh?” she blurted out, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

The trickster rolled his eyes at her ineloquence. Without another word, he gestured at the entrance to the alley, where she knew his magical wall stood. Her eyes followed his movement, confusion clear as the glow in them slowly began to fade away, unbeknownst to her. She blinked in shock: Everything was covered in electrical burns, including the area of the street beyond the wall. The glass of all the streetlamps had shattered, leaving small shards of glass strewn about on the sidewalks, barely noticeable due to the thick sheet of ice coating the ground. Likewise, most of the windows of nearby buildings had shattered. What was more important than the status of glass in the vicinity, however, was that the occupants of the largely residential area had all come out of their homes, flashlights in hand, and begun to scour the moonlit street for the search of the disturbance. Some of them were muttering about transformer blowouts, and others were muttering about terrorists, but all of them were staring at the alley.

“They only see a wall, right?” she quietly asked as she watched one of them, a middle-aged man with mousy hair, carefully prod at the wall with his solid silver Maglite. The wall lightly rippled where the device touched the wall, but it seemed to her to be intact.

“Yes, but not for long,” he replied, his superior knowledge of magic dispelling her hope that the wall would hold. “Illusions are my greatest affinity, but this wall was not intended to be a permanent enchantment, and between restoring your body and keeping the wall from _completely_ failing under the assault of your mana, I have already depleted most of my own reserves. At this point, even these ordinary humans will be able to see through it soon enough, given how closely they are scrutinizing it. Now, I hope that lecture was satisfactory because as I said before, we need to go. _Now_.”

“Right,” she murmured as she pulled away from him, her legs a tad wobbly but nevertheless holding firm. “What’s the escape plan?” His pale green eyes met her sky blue ones as he gave her a grim smile. “Loki?” He pointed at the solid wall of the alley, the only thing separating them from what she suspected was someone’s home. “Well, shit.”

* * *

**Friday, July 15th, 2005 @ 06:26p, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

“Potts is here, ma’am,” the infected Jarvis intoned, alerting Aldrich and Doppelgänger of the incoming danger. The two of them were still professionally dressed from the impromptu press conference she had held earlier to announce the partnership between Stark Industries and Advanced Idea Mechanics, and they were both lounging, biding their time for this exact moment. Pepper, the current CEO of Stark Industries, would naturally be livid that she had acted without her approval in such a manner, especially given how publicly she had done so. “Should I delay her?”

“No need,” the blonde replied as he withdrew the narrow, syringe filled case he kept in his inner suit pocket and rose to his feet. “We anticipated this, after all.”

“Try to be gentle,” she said with a wince as she twisted in her seat to face the elevator, setting herself up so she would naturally draw the incoming CEO’s attention the moment the doors slid open. “I’d rather this not be quite as… brutal as it was yesterday.”

Aldrich, who had already begun to stride over to the elevator, glanced back over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow and disbelief evident on his face. “We’re playing this close to the chest, love… I don’t want this to be ‘brutal’ either, but we can’t take any chances.”

Doppelgänger glanced away from him, her face a mixture of grief, frustration, and determination. “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.” She set her jaw, a glint in her sky blue eyes as she gazed out at the NYC skyline. “But that doesn’t mean I need to like it.”

He said nothing in response, instead planting himself flat against the wall, slipping his shoes off, and focusing his attention on the elevator to his right. They didn’t have to wait long, as a moment later, the elevator doors slid open with a hiss, revealing an obviously frustrated Pepper Potts. “What were you thinking?!” she fumed as her eyes locked onto Doppelgänger. Seething, she began to stalk towards the fake, her pumps clicked rhythmically against the floor as she closed the gap between them. “Tell me, Megan, why you thought it was a good idea to do this without consulting me first? I mean, good god, I hadn’t even heard from you about how the presentation with Killian went; I had to hear about it from Happy. How can I run this company when you do shit like this? We’re still drowning in the fallout from our prosthetic line being used to _mind control_ people! Do you have any _idea_ what this is going to do to our stock?”

“Pepper…” the target of her ire said in a placating, apologetic tone as the redhead reached the couch she where she was seated and stood imposingly over the still seated fake. “I’m sorry, but I need to do this.”

“Why?!” Pepper asked in exasperation, “Why do we need this partnership?!”

The seated woman gave her a sad smile as Aldrich swiftly slipped the needle into the redhead's neck, depressing the plunger in the span of a second. Pepper whipped around, anger in her eyes, but froze in shock at the sight of the blonde. Though she had met the man many years ago, she never would have recognized him but for having already seen the teleconference where Doppelgänger introduced him and his think-tank. “Ahdriiich?” she said, the slur in her voice catching her off guard. “Whaaa is dis?”

“You misunderstood her, Pep,” the man said with a winning smile as the CEO slowly sank to the ground as the tranquilizer worked its magic. “She's not sorry about the partnership. She's sorry about what we're going to do with you.” By the time the blonde finished speaking, Pepper had already lost total control over her muscles and could only stare, her crystal blue eyes wide open and unable to close. The still fully conscious CEO was internally screaming, trying in vain to move something — anything — in order to escape, but she couldn't so much as twitch a finger. Like a true sadist, his smile never faltered as he knelt down next to her and began to probe her arm with his finger. Eventually finding what he was looking for, he slid a different needle into her, this one half full with a glowing, fiery red liquid. “See, we needed your _complete_ cooperation, and there was no chance you would work with us if you knew what we were doing.” Rather than immediately injecting the brilliantly colored liquid into her, Aldrich waited patiently, humming a jaunty tune under his breathe as Pepper's blood flowed freely into the container, dark red slowly mixing with its brighter counterpart over time, ultimately reaching a solid shade of red somewhere between the two extremes of the original substances. Once the mixing was complete, the blonde withdrew his syringe case from his suit pocket once more and laid it on the ground next to him. With practiced precision, he plucked out a syringe containing a liquid matching the one in the syringe still sticking out of the terrified redhead. “Luckily,” he continued, sounding for all the world as though he were chatting with the CEO over coffee in a cafe, not playing doctor with her immobilized body, “we have a workaround for that.” He slid the newest syringe into his victim and depressed the plunger, forcing the liquid into her.

Doppelgänger watched with barely concealed horror as the redhead began to soundlessly writhe as the Extremis began to change her body. _This is almost worse than it was with Megan..._ she thought. _To suffer that much but be unable to move, not even able to scream... God I wish we didn't have to do this!_ The pigment of Pepper's skin and hair was darkening, and her frame was slightly shrinking, most of the change in her height.

As the changes began to slow down, the elevator door slid open, revealing a tanned woman with hair dyed a dark red. The newcomer quirked an eyebrow as she stepped into the room, her chocolate brown eyes fixed on Pepper, whose body was now settling into the visage of a middle-eastern woman. “Got the blood already then?” Ellen Brandt inquired as she moseyed over to the still kneeling Aldrich and held out her hand.

“Naturally,” he easily replied as he removed the syringe containing the mixture of Extremis and Pepper's blood — the small hole in the transformed woman's arm instantly healing over, the bright red fire of Extremis thrumming underneath her skin as it did so — and placed it into the woman's waiting hand.

The redhead turned her attention to the syringe, flicking the side of the plastic with her finger. “Mmm... Here's hoping this doesn't hurt as much as last time, yeah?” she muttered, her features resigned. Without waiting for a response, she adjusted her grip on the instrument and shoved it into her arm, quickly injecting the entirety of the liquid into herself.

Doppelgänger swiftly rose to her feet and practically fled into the bathroom, as seeing two such transformations in quick succession had made her queasy. About a minute later, as she flushed her upchucked dinner down the toilet, someone lightly rapped their knuckles against the door. “Just a sec,” the fake called out as she picked herself up off of her knees, adjusted her suit, and hesitantly made her way to the door. Gripping the handle with her shaking hand, she pulled open the door, revealing the smiling form of none other than Pepper Potts.

The redhead smiled wickedly, ruining the illusion with a gesture so foreign to the CEO's face. “How do I look then? Pretty good, right?”

“You... look good, Ellen.”

“Well, don't you sound unsure?” she replied, her now blue eyes narrowing indignantly. “Well, whatever,” she said dismissively, turning on her heel and stalking off. “It's not like I want your bloody approval anyway. Boss just wanted me to check on you while he made a call.”

“S-sorry!” the ravenette apologized, but Ellen was already well out of sight and either didn't hear her or, more likely, didn't bother replying. _Smooth. No doubt the real Megan would've handled that a lot better,_ she thought to herself, unaware that Megan likely would have reacted much the same way in that situation. She sighed, before steeling herself and moving back into the room where she knew Aldrich was waiting.

* * *

**Sunday, December 25th, 2005 @ 10:40p, EST | Washington, D.C., an alcove near a homeless shelter**

“Was any of that unclear?” Loki asked, a hint of strain in his voice as he focused the last of his mana into maintaining his magical barrier. “Because we don't have much more time.”

“Call up the mana, don't dive in headfirst like last time, and use it to blow a hole in the wall,” Megan recited. “And for the record, I still think this is bat shit crazy.”

“I still don't understand what bat shit has to do with our situation,” the trickster drawled, “and if you have a better idea, I'm prepared to listen.”

“Don't worry about it, and I've got nothing. I'm entitled to think the plan is crazy, even if it's our only option.” She took a deep breath and reached into herself, coaxing out her power. The electricity came to her a bit easier this time, but her anger still welled up enough to nearly make her growl. _So I need to blow a hole in a wall using just electricity, however I refine it..._ Unconsciously, thoughts of her old suit's repulsors came to mind. _Yes! I think that's something I can do. At least, I don't think it's outside my affinity._ She shrugged before lifting her hand, baring her palm at the wall she was going to destroy. _Only one way to find out._ With a thought, the power thrumming beneath her skin began to flood into her outstretched hand, causing her palm to crackle with electricity and glow an electric blue. “Woah...” she murmured at the sight. Her focus lost, the magic sizzled into nothingness.

“Sooner would be better than later,” Loki snapped out.

“Don't get snippy with me,” she bit back, snapping her head to face him, her eyes glowing electric blue with anger.

“We can be angry with each other later,” he answered, swallowing his pride as felt his mana reserves empty. “My mana just ran out.”

“Right,” Megan relented, though she was still silently seething. She turned her gaze back to her hand and focused her mana into it once more, the power answering her call more swiftly this time, fueled by her anger. Her palm glowing once more, she took a deep breath, focused on what she wanted to happen, and willed her mana to do it, knowing their escape depended on her.

It worked: The gathered electricity shot out of her palm into the wall, blowing a huge hole in it, just as a hand mounted repulsor would have. Some people out on the street beyond the wall screamed when they heard the explosion, and Loki's wall chose that moment to fail, but the blast had filled the air of the alcove with dust, providing the duo with a brief smoke screen to obscure their actions. Without a word, Loki grabbed her, tossed her onto and across his shoulder (Eliciting a surprised and indignant squeak from her.), and bolted through the newly created hole. Blessedly, everyone in the house seemed to have vacated it in favor of joining their neighbors on the street outside, so nobody was around to witness the green clad trickster fireman-carrying a pissed off, petite woman as he hauled ass through the structure, searching for the best way to proceed.

Ordinarily, he would have just cast an illusion on the two of them, like making them invisible, and simply waltzed out onto the street and away from scrutiny. Given his current lack of mana, however, he knew he would have to innovate. Instinctively, he distanced himself from the hole Megan had just created, buying them as much extra time as he could muster.

“Go up to the roof,” Megan said as they slid into a hallway plastered with a truly unfortunate choice of wallpaper and a plethora of awkward family pictures that only members of the family itself could possibly find less than creepy, though most of the latter had fallen clean off of the wall from the shockwave caused when she had created their makeshift entrance into the abode. “There’s probably a roof access.”

Loki didn’t know exactly what a ‘roof access’ was (Though thanks to the wonder of context clues, he had a very good idea.), but he followed her suggestion without comment. This was her world, not his, and time was of the essence; he knew better than to question her right now. He saw stairs at the end of the hall and immediately dashed towards them, his leather boots pounding against the hard wood floor in resounding clunks. Even though he wasn’t as physically fit as his Asgardian contemporaries, he was nevertheless superhuman and swiftly made his way up the stairs, passing clear by the next floor, where a TV could be heard in the background. “—rorist organization ‘The Ten Ri—’” Megan, not missing a beat despite their travel speed and her human heritage, blew the locked steel door at the top of the stairwell clean off its hinges with another electric blast as soon as it entered her line of sight.

The pair burst out onto the icy roof, and after a quick glance at their surroundings, she pointed at the roof of the building behind the one they were standing on. “Get onto the ground on the next street over. We can blend with the…” She paused, casting a look at his attire. “No, you’d stand out like a sore thumb if we did that. Second thought: Still go that way, but stay on the roofs and get us far away from here.” He took a second to adjust his hold on her, shifting into carrying her bridal style (Megan pretended to be studiously watching ahead for trouble, but really, she was doing her best to hide the faint but warm blush that had begun to light up her cold skin.), and launched into action once more, dashing across the rooftop and took a running leap onto the house facing the parallel street before taking a sharp right and continuing along the row of houses. _It’s technically a good thing he’s carrying me… There’s no way I could keep up with this pace! We’re crossing, what a rooftop every handful of seconds? So it’s good he’s holding me. It’s a good thing. Really._

Five minutes, nearly sixty rooftops, and a few intersections later, she gave him the go ahead to cease their frenzied flight. “We should be far enough away now. Unless someone caught a glimpse of us and has given a really good, really brief sketch to the police, they won’t be looking for us specifically at this distance, and that’s assuming they’re even looking for _people_.”

The trickster came to a halt on the next rooftop, made his way over to a relatively ice-free area, and carefully placed her down, the perfect gentleman (Which made sense, she decided, since he had been brought up as part of a royal family, even if it _was_ a completely different society.). “So then,” he said, sounding for all the world as though he had been taking a leisurely stroll for the past five minutes. “What’s our next move? We clearly _will_ need a more secluded place to continue your training, seeing as you are drawn to chaos like a moth to a flame.”

“Well,” she began, a thoughtful look on her moonlit face. “We’re in Washington D.C., which doesn’t exactly have a lot of ‘secluded places,’ at least when you take into account just how secluded it’ll need to be if I do that again…” She glanced up, her sky blue eyes seeking out his pale green ones, the moonlight giving them an odd, luminescent quality. “What did I do, by the way? You said I ‘skipped a step,’ but what does that _mean_ , exactly?”

“You quite literally skipped a step in your training,” he drawled. “Typically, training of how to use one’s mana properly begins with very basic use of one of your affinities, the goal being to get you used to the feeling of how your mana flows within your body. Later, once you have a solid grasp of the first step, you trace the stream of your mana back into your reserves, the goal being to familiarize yourself with all of the facets of your mana, particularly your affinities and how great your reserves are.”

“Ah,” Megan murmured. “So _that’s_ what that was… I honestly wasn’t sure what to think. This has been a hell of a crazy night, but still, it’s not every day that you go from standing in an alley to being in the thick of a raging tempest.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly at that. “A tempest? So lightning and wind, likely, but… Was that all?”

“Yes… Why? What should I have seen?”

“You are certain you saw no fire anywhere? Completely positive?”

“Yeah,” she replied, thinking back on what had happened. “No fire at all. Just a lot of lightning and wind, like you said.”

“Interesting,” he commented, before trailing off into silent musings. _But then why do I see fire when I look at her channels?_

She wanted to press him for more than that, but it seemed like he needed to think more on the matter, so she let the matter lie. Instead, the faint sound of a woman speaking on TV caught her ear, peaking her interest. She initially could barely hear what was being said, but once she focused on it, she found it seemed to become much louder in her ear. “—ust joining us, authorities have confirmed approximately fifteen minutes ago that as a result of the latest Mandarin attack, President Ellis is dead. I repeat, President Ellis is _dead_. Vice President Rodriguez is being sworn in as we speak and will address this tragedy live in just a few minutes here. In the meantime, we’ll… Actually, President Rodriguez is beginning his address now. We’ll be back shortly.” A few seconds later, a man began to speak, his tone grave and heavy. “My fellow Americans, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that my great friend and this country’s lead, President Matthew Ellis, is no longer of this Earth. Earlier this evening, Miami authorities responded to reports of a massive harbor fire. The origin of this fire was the oil tanker Roxxon Norco, and…” He paused briefly, collecting himself before continuing. “And President Ellis, who was chained in place aboard it, was burned alive.” Even though she couldn’t see him right now, Megan knew what Rodriguez looked like, and she could practically see his dark brown eyes hardening as he spoke his next words. “This horrific crime was perpetrated by the terrorist organization ‘The Ten Rings’ by the order of its leader, the man who calls himself ‘The Mandarin,’ as part of his sadistic killing spree, which he has been calling ‘lessons.’ My fellow Americans, this is my answer to The Mandarin: The United States will not let this stand. I swear, as the President of this great nation, that my administration will not rest until we find you and bring you to justice. You _will_ answer for your crimes — your so called ‘lessons.’ There is nowhere you can hide — nowhere we cannot find you. So prepare yourself: Your judgment day is coming.”

 _Holy shit,_ Megan thought to herself as the feed switched back to the news anchor from before. _He_ killed _the President? ‘Judgment day’ indeed…_ She paused, before grudgingly admitting to herself, _Still, even if the Mandarin’s a sick fuck who needs to be taken out, I have to hand it to him: He’s got a serious sense of poetic justice. A fire aboard the Norco — the ship involved in that huge oil spill where no oil company executives went to court for even a day…_ The sound of a police siren caught her ear as one began to approach along the road below them, coming from the direction of the alcove. In the distance, she could see more, all fanning out and in various directions. “Loki, we need to get out of this city altogether. An explosion on the night the Mandarin assassinates the President? The police are _definitely_ going to be investigating after all.”

“You still haven’t said where we’re going,” he answered as he pulled out of his own thoughts, his eyes still curiously looking at her — _through_ her, really, or so it seemed.

 _Fuck, we really can’t afford to stay_ anywhere _in or near D.C. The police — hell, even the military, maybe — is going to be on incredibly high alert for anything suspicious. Loki seems to be a fast runner, but still, there’s got to be a limit to how long he can run, and he isn’t incredibly fast either. So we need to get far away, and we need to do it fast… Ah, of course._ She glanced at their surroundings again, smiling as she noted their exact location. “See where that airplane — err, that, uh, big metal… bird — is?” She pointed due west where, conveniently, a plane was taking off. “We need to go there and hitch a ride on one of those. I don’t know what options we’ll have to choose from, so we’ll have to figure that out when we get there. Conserve whatever you can of any replenished mana; we’ll likely need to… coerce some of the employees there.”

The trickster rolled his eyes before drawling, “I do know _some_ of your culture. I told you: I did my research.”

She laughed at that but was cut short when Loki, once again, swept her up into a bridal style carry without warning. “Fuck, Loki! A little warning next time, maybe?”

One of his perfectly shaped eyebrows quirked up, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Maybe,” he answered as he took off running across the rooftops once more.

She lightly smacked his chest. “Prat,” she muttered, a small amount of warmth slipping into her tone as she said it, despite her best efforts to keep it out.

* * *

**Wednesday, April 1st, 2001 @ 12:10p, EST | Miami, Florida**

“C’mon, 1968…” Maya chanted either a vain attempt to comfort herself or to encourage the plant — she wasn’t really sure which. _Maybe just whichever finds an answer to this dilemma? Fuck knows I’ll take whatever I can get at this point…_

She checked the instruments she had attached to ‘plant 1968,’ the same plant from the day she perfected Extremis. At least, that’s what she had thought at the time. A two days ago, however, she had observed some strange developments in the plant: Namely, it had begun to glow and emit heat. The changes were slow at first, only low level emissions of light and heat, but the symptoms had grown steadily worse over time. She had been awake, studying the symptoms and working on creating an antidote since it all first began, and she was unfortunately having no luck at all. This time, she had given up on treating the symptoms themselves and had focused on their cause: Extremis. Several dosages of the chemical, which she had been carefully analyzing, were lying nearby, awaiting further testing. She knew it would likely be futile, but she was trying anyway. She needed to find a cure soon; plant 1968 wasn’t the only thing exhibiting the symptoms.

“It’s not working, Maya,” Aldrich said, his tone tense and filled with panic and his volume steadily growing as he spoke. “It’s not fucking working, just like the other ‘antidotes’ you made! Why the _fuck_ isn’t it working?!”

“If I knew why, then we wouldn’t be having this problem,” she retorted, doing her best to keep her tone calm. The last thing they needed right now was for _both_ of them to lose their heads. _One is quite enough, thank you very much…_

The blonde slammed his clenched, glowing fist into the metal the plant was lying on, leaving a red hot dent in the surface, making Maya jump in surprise, and sending a resounding bang throughout the room. “Well figure it out!” he snarled viciously, his normally dark blue eyes glowing, brilliant red cinders mirrored his current ire. “I’m telling you, I feel like I could ex—” He trailed off in horror as cracks began to form along the surface of the plant, ominous red light gleaming out of them.

Maya was no fool. She had seen this over a thousand times; 1967 times, to be exact. “Shit!” she cried out as she leapt to her feet, grabbed the pot containing plant 1968, and bolted in the direction of the blast container she hadn’t used since the previous October. She may have been out of practice from months without having to dispose of a plant ready to explode, but she _was_ practiced at one point, and her quick reaction neutralized the immediate problem. Rather than exploding in her face, like the plant she’d had in her room when she first met Megan Stark, she managed to throw the pot into the blast container and seal the door in the nick of time. She didn’t watch the violent explosion through the container’s viewing glass, as she might have done last October, since she still had a huge problem on her hands: _Aldrich!_

She whirled around to face her lover, her brown tresses flowing with the movement, and found that, yes, his skin was beginning to crack. He was moaning, calling her name as he collapsed to his knees, his pain clearly visible as his body began to break down. _No!_ She dashed over to him, ignoring the danger of approaching a living bomb. He was _her_ living bomb, and she had seconds left to fix him before he died violently, taking her with him. There was no time to analyze formulae, to synthesize a potential antidote, to do anything other than _act_. _What can I do?_ Time was slowing down as she skidded into place next to where he had collapsed on the floor. _The Extremis is going to…_ Her honey brown eyes widened, twitched to the right, and landed on the dosages of Extremis she had been testing. Before she could even process what she was planning to do, her hand rocketed out and snatched one up, the syringe gripped in her palm so her thumb was on the plunger. With a quick kick to his sternum, she knocked Aldrich off of his knees and onto his back, leaving only a tailored, white shirt between her and his chest. The cracks of light could be seen through the material covering his chest; she knew she had no time to even tear off his shirt.

She slammed the needle into his chest, planting it through a large crack over his heart, and depressed the plunger.

* * *

**Thursday, June 30th, 2005 @ 07:11p, EST | Warren 77, NYC**

“I’ve gotta say, this doesn’t really seem like your kind of place, Meg,” Clint said as they took a seat at one of the few two person tables in the sports bar, Megan a tad more gingerly than her companion.

“Normally, it wouldn’t be,” she quipped back jovially as she twisted her swivel, barstool style chair to face him. The brick walls of the building were covered in framed pictures and well-placed HDTVs, and the furniture laid out was clearly designed for a party atmosphere. A din filled the air thanks to the packed clientele, who were either engaged in watching the games displayed on the TVs or enjoying the company of good friends and good food. Snatched up one of the menus lying on the table, scanned it briefly, and pointed at one of the listed foods. “Blame these. Happy got me some of their beer battered onion rings, once upon a time, and I’ve been kind of hooked ever since.”

“If you don’t mind parting with some, then I’ll try one of yours,” he replied. “I’m generally not big on onion rings, so I’d rather stick with something else for my meal.”

“Sure, no problem,” she easily responded. “I chose this place for another reason as well, though,” she continued before leaning in close enough to whisper to him. “It’s—”

“The perfect place to have a semi-confidential conversation,” the blonde interjected, knowing what she was about to say. “I figured that was the real reason. Anybody watching us, who doesn’t already know us, will just think we’re an intimate couple. And even if they did know who we are, they wouldn’t be able to hear anything thanks to all the noise.” He winked, belying the tension that hung in the air between them.

“Will the student ever surpass the teacher, I wonder?” she joshed as their waitress, a perky woman with bleached blonde hair and breasts that seemed entirely too implausible ( _She looks like she belongs at Hooters…_ Megan thought.), took their orders. Clint, who had obviously not taken the opportunity to seriously peruse the menu, snatched it up and ordered the first thing he saw that looked like it might taste good to him: A steak sandwich. Once the waitress had flitted off to the next table, Megan continued, her tone serious but her face carefully kept cheerful, “So tell me: What’s the word at work?”

The sharpshooter snorted, before wearily running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. “And you think I’ll tell you? How has your recovery been, by the way?”

“If you thought I needed to know. And I’m still quite sore, but otherwise quite good.”

“Don’t you think _I_ would contact _you_ and not the other way around, if I knew something that I thought I should pass along? And if you’re sore, should you really be going out to a sports bar?

She shrugged, unabashed. “I figured seeing me might make you crack, let something slip. And I caught a cab rather than walking over, so I _am_ taking it easy.”

“Rather manipulative of you. And I suppose that’s fair enough.”

The waitress briefly dropped in, quickly depositing two glasses of water before dashing off once more.

“Well, I’m dealing with people who spy on spies the masters of manipulation on a global scale,” Megan said, once she was sure no one could hear her, at least without using some seriously high end technology. “I think it’s rather justifiable that I play by their rules.” Clint opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, all of the TVs in the restaurant changed feeds simultaneously. An unnatural silence filled the room, leaving everyone feeling suffocated as an unfortunately all too familiar image appeared on every TV: Crossed sabers surrounded by ten rings, each containing an Arabic character. _Shit, I knew it,_ she thought to herself. _That explosion in Los Angeles_ was _another attack…_

“Mr. President,” The unmistakable voice of the Mandarin rang out as the man himself appeared on the screen: A brown haired, bearded man clothed in robes of green and gold with a somewhat Asian flare, his hair pulled back tightly into a knot, and a ring on each of his fingers. Oddly, one of his hands was face up and halfway closed around something, obscuring it. “I’d like to tell you a true story about fortune cookies.” He opened his hand, revealing one of the well-known foods. His lips twitched up into a creepy smile — the kind you would see on an axe murderer before he planted his weapon in a victim. “They look Chinese; they sound Chinese. But they’re actually an American invention, which is why they’re hollow, full of lies, and leave a bad taste in the mouth.” He abruptly clenched his hand, crushing the cookie between his fingers, the white fortune slip sticking out through the crack between his fingers. He tossed the remains aside with disdain before he leaned forward slightly, his pitch colored eyes boring holes in the camera. “My disciples just destroyed another cheap American knock-off: The Chinese Theater. I hope you’ll take my lesson to heart this time. Your nation is poisoning the world, and as long as you do, my cleansings will continue.”

The interjected feed cut away, the original broadcasts returning, but the festive air in the bar had already been eviscerated. Friends were turning to each other, whispering in hushed tones, and many people were leaving money on the table and going home. Fear was evident on everyone’s faces — everyone except Megan and Clint, who had turned to face one another with steel in their eyes.

“Seriously, Clint,” she whispered harshly, deciding to forego being cautious anymore. “What the fuck is S.H.I.E.L.D. doing about this?”

“We’re doing what you won’t anymore,” he snapped back before visually calming himself. “I’m sorry. That was… uncalled for. You have every right to live a normal life.” He sighed. “After all, that’s what we do, right? We forfeit our personal lives, fight from the shadows and do the unsavory work that lets everyone else keep living their ‘normal lives.’”

She smiled sadly at the bitterness in his tone. “Yeah… That’s what you’re supposed to be doing, but…” She glanced up at the closest TV, where a minute ago she had watched the terrorist at the top of the F.B.I.’s most wanted share another of his ‘lessons,’ like a preacher delivering a demented sermon — like he was some kind of hero out to save the world from itself. “But you’ve got nothing on this guy yet.” The sharpshooter said nothing, merely giving her a dark look, but she continued anyway. “You really don’t, do you? So even the world’s best spy agency has no leads…”

“Fine,” he bit out, a pained look on his face. The bar was a ghost town at that point, but even still, he leaned in closer and spoke even quieter than they had up until that point. “Look, just… Fine. I’ll tell you. We’ve chased down every possible lead, squeezed every possible source, and spent I don’t know how much, and we’ve found nothing that I’m aware of. Not a god damn thing.

“Fuck,” she breathed out in shock. “All of that and _still_ nothing? I almost want to believe they _aren’t_ telling you everything because otherwise, that’s a really scary thought.”

The blonde stood up then, snatching up the jacket he had draped over the back of his chair. “Look, I should get going, okay? Do you want me to escort you back to the Tower?”

“No, no. There’s no need for that,” she responded as she whipped out her phone and electronically hailed a cab. “I’m sure I can make it home without the help of the world’s most overqualified babysitter.” She slid out of her chair, her dangling feet plopping down to the floor, unintentionally causing herself to wince and clutch at the table. “Ugh. Surgery recovery is ridiculous, but I can’t argue with the results. A person is who they are on the inside, not the outside, but having a comfortable outside is a plus.”

Clint smiled fondly at that. “Congratulations again. I know you’ve been waiting a long time to have that done.”

“Thanks,” she replied with a wide smile. Once they passed through the door of the bar — which he held open for her, eliciting a quick “thanks” from her — she suddenly asked, “Clint, I… I’m sorry. I can’t help but feel like I let you down by quitting S.H.I.E.L.D.…”

“You didn’t, so don’t,” he said immediately, sensing a ramble coming on. At her skeptical look, he continued, “Look, everyone has their breaking point. Back in Asgard, Bruce just helped you see that you were at yours. Although,” he smirked, “I should add that if the world’s about to be trashed because Loki brings another army or something like that, then I expect you to suit up, you hear?”

“Ha,” she breathed out, relief creeping into her features. “Fair enough, on both counts.” She opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came out as she suddenly began to reconsider asking her question.

“Oh, just spit it out,” he quipped at her fondly with a cocked eyebrow. “You look like you’ll implode if you don’t.”

Nevertheless, she hesitated for a moment longer before finally saying, “I’m not a hundred percent sure I want to know the answer to this, but… I reached my breaking point after working with S.H.I.EL.D. for a year and a half, and you’ve been working with them for much longer. Where’s yours?”

“Ah…” He leaned against the brick exterior of the bar, a rueful smile on his lips. “Yeah, I suppose that’s fair to ask.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts before adding, “I’ll just say this: It’s one thing to enter a line of work and later find your breaking point, and it’s another entirely to enter a line of work _because_ you hit that point. You started working with us because our paths kept crossing and you saw a benefit to helping. I, on the other hand, am part of the latter group.”

Her jaw dropped a fraction at that, her shock evident. _Now I_ am _afraid to ask any more. I never would have thought…_

The sound of a honking horn interrupted her thoughts as a yellow cab pulled up, the driver yelling out the window, “‘Ey, you Megan Stark? Your butler called me.”

“Be right there!” she called out in response before turning back to the blonde sharpshooter. They met each other’s eyes, a silent conversation passing between them in that moment. Eventually, she gave him a sad smile and said, “Thanks, Clint — for everything. I’ll see you around, okay?”

He returned her sad smile with one of his own. “It’s been a pleasure, Meg, and we’ll definitely see each other later. Maybe next time we’ll get to eat the bar food without a terrorist interrupting us.” He winked, eliciting a peal of giggles from her, and they parted ways, her by cab and him by foot. Once she had slid into the cab and told the driver where she was heading, she leaned back into the squishy seat of the yellow vehicle, a soft sigh escaping her lips. _Yeah, hopefully they’ll catch this ‘Mandarin’ guy soon. Though still… I don’t like his tactics, but I have to admit he has a point: The world would be better off if certain people are purged. S.H.I.E.L.D., world leaders, politicians… just about everyone believes it. All they disagree about is_ who _should be purged…_

* * *

**Thursday, September 29th, 2005 @ 11:33a, EST | The Triskelion**

“That’s all we have on ‘The Mandarin’ at this point, I’m afraid,” Nick Fury said with a sigh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this man was a ghost. We’re consistently coming up with nothing in our efforts to find him or people who know him.”

Alexander Pierce sighed as he removed his glasses and wearily ran a hand over his face. “One last thing, Nick: Have you learned anything — anything at all — about the disappearance of Captain Rogers.”

“All we know for certain is when and where he disappeared, but you already know that,” the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. replied tensely and with no small amount of frustration. “Sharon Carter, the agent I had on surveillance duty for his apartment reported that he left for his typical early morning jog, and he never returned, having disappeared sometime after that.”

Pierce stood up from his desk and moved over to the large pane window of his office, glancing down at the streets of Washington D.C. with a searching look, as if he expected to spot Steve at that precise moment. “Nick… We need to get these answers, and we need to get them soon. The council was restless enough after your ‘Avengers’ stunt back in April, but now that the Avengers are dropping out of the picture? They’re frothing at the mouth.”

“‘Dropping out of the picture’ is one way to put it,” the director slowly replied. “Captain Rogers may be missing, but that doesn’t mean the other five who participated in the debacle last April have gone anywhere.”

“Haven’t they though? Stark and Banner have cut off all ties, secluding themselves away in Stark Tower. Thor hasn’t made contact since he left Earth with the war prisoner Loki. Romanoff and Barton are still accounted for, but we’ve already had Rogers disappear from underneath our noses. What’s to say it can’t happen with them?” He turned away from the window and back to Fury. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I picked you to be the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. for a reason, and it’s because you get things done and you know when to get them done. I’m just trying to get across exactly what I’m dealing with upstairs.”

“Yeah, and that time is _now_.” He rose from his seat, putting his tablet into sleep mode as he did so. “Once we start finding those answers, you’ll be the first to know.” And with that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the room.

Pierce watched him leave, staring after him for half a minute before pressing the button on his desk that hailed his secretary. “Joanne, send in Sitwell.” A few moments later, the dark skinned Agent Sitwell entered the room and took the chair where Fury had sat just a minute prior. Without a word, Pierce pressed a button on his desk, and the room entered into its security blackout mode, blocking all signals in and out of the room and disrupting the travel of sound waves from within the room to outside of it. “Report on the A.I.M. project.”

“Killian and his think tank successfully acquired their next target, as you know, and are trying to replicate his powers. So far, they’ve had no luck on that front. The same is unfortunately true for their first target, as well. Progress is much better regarding the insertion of some their members into key positions of power without raising public suspicion. It’s been approximately two and a half months since they successfully acquired Stark Industries through the insertion of their members, all without raising a red flag for non-Hydra members of S.H.I.E.L.D. Killian is currently requesting directions regarding how to proceed.”

“Put pressure on them. They may be making progress, but we need them to pick up the pace. The sooner we have the world’s leaders and these powers under Hydra’s thumb, the sooner I can rest easy. Nick Fury isn’t a stupid man; he’s going to catch on eventually if we don’t finish this project ASAP.”

“Understood, sir.”

* * *

**Wednesday, December 28th, 2005 @ 6:01p, EST | Somewhere in the Great Smokey Mountains National Park, TN**

The occasional echoing sound of Megan shouting filled the air of the snowy forest, providing counterpoint to the crackling din of electricity. She and Loki had only been in the forest for a few days, having arrived at Gatlinburg-Pigeon Forge Airport early on the 26th and subsequently ‘convinced’ a trucker who was heading down to Route 321 to give them a ride. Loki had recovered some of his mana reserves by the time the trucker conveniently ‘forgot’ that he had given them a ride, but rather than creating an artificially secure location, he had insisted on a natural one in order to preserve his mana in case she flew off the handle again. Once they had found a suitable site, she dove into practice with a fervor reminiscent of the effort she had once poured into designing the Mark II, and over time, she made both great improvements and some that were less than great.

The area where she had clearly improved the most was accessing her mana reserves. Whether it was due to having Loki as her sole company or due to having so many reasons to be pissed off, she found it so easy to embrace the anger that persistently writhed within her. All she had to do was think about how she had been living the past half a year and who had put her in that situation; about how she had felt betrayed when none of her friends or family came to her rescue, despite knowing the likelihood of someone being able to find her on purpose was infinitesimal; about how she suspected she might never be able to truly feel whole again. It was very, _very_ easy to find reasons to be angry.

With such readily available access to her mana, she was able to practice whenever she wanted, which quickly led the pair to discover her second strong point: Her mana reserves were _tremendous_. ‘Whenever she wanted’ had more or less translated to every waking moment (And her infamous insomnia had been rearing its ugly head.), but she never felt the strain of her mana emptying away despite such en masse use. Loki hadn’t been very surprised, simply remarking, _“I suspected that was the case,”_ and nothing more, leaving Megan miffed that he hadn’t told her in advance and that he wasn’t explaining _why_ , exactly, he had suspected it.

However, despite having such huge reserves and ease in accessing them, she had found that she had trouble developing new ways of using all of that power. The problem wasn’t imagination — she had that in spades; rather, her mind was simply too _active_. Ordinarily, the sheer number of ideas racing through her head at any given moment made focusing on a single one difficult but not impossible. When one introduced mana into the equation, however, the difficulty increased exponentially, since it required an extra push of focus that she simply did not have. The only magical feats she could successfully and regularly perform was shooting electrical blasts like she had back in D.C. and making her body relatively invulnerable. She suspected she could handle these in particular because she was so familiar her suits’ repulsors and protective armor, but she could only speculate.

Well, speculate and fume, which was why she was presently shouting in frustration as she channeled her mana, electricity flaring all around her, as she tried in vain to hover. “Fucking hell, why isn’t this working?!” she screamed in frustration, finally giving up and viciously kicking the ground. The forest floor was quite hard on account of the onset of winter, but on account of her mana-fueled durability, she neither felt a flicker of pain nor was injured in the slightest.

“I’ve told you the answer,” Loki drawled, a bored look on his face and his pale green eyes idly scanning the sky from his perch on a nearby fallen log. “Yet you refuse to listen to reason.”

She fixed the trickster with a glare but swallowed down her retort, knowing he was right.

_“Why are you trying to pour more mana into a failed spell? I told you days ago that there are four limitations to using one’s mana: Size, ability, imagination, affinity. The first limitation is only concerned with whether or not you have enough mana — not how much you can pour into a spell. Producing a given effect requires a specific amount of mana — no more, no less. Such is the nature of equivalence.”_

She seethed as his brief lecture flitted through her memory. “I know all of that, but it’s instinctive. The only ways I’ve been able to use my mana so far have all been related to my suits, so in theory, I should be able to fly. The fact that it’s not working, when by all accounts it should, just makes me want to try harder.” She sighed bitterly, flopping down onto the snow coated ground without a concern. She picked up a handful of the white powder with her bare hands, brought it in front of her eyes, and let it slowly filter through the cracks in her fingers, gently falling through the air into her lap. She wished she could enjoy how temperature resistant her durability made her (Loki, unlike her, simply didn’t mind the cold because it was one of his affinities. _“If it were hot out,”_ he told her at one point, _“then I would be quite uncomfortable unless I expend enough mana to keep me cool.”_ ), but she had been yearning to fly through the air once again. She hadn’t experienced the freedom of flight since she stopped using her suit after Loki’s assault on NYC, and her time in a male body had made the feeling of being constricted significantly worse.

“It may be that it’s possible for you to do but is tied to your affinity for wind,” he suggested with a shrug.

She snorted at that. “That would suck, but it’s certainly plausible, given that I’ve had basically no luck creating any.” Indeed, despite her alleged affinity for it, the most wind she had been able to summon up was a light breeze — nothing even remotely in the ballpark of the massive electric fields and blasts she cast without issue thanks to her affinity for electricity. Loki had assured her that it wasn’t unheard of for mana users to be unable to tap into some of their affinities until they mastered others first, but it was little conciliation. _That doesn’t help me fly_ now _though…_ She glanced over at her companion and noted that he was clearly getting stir-crazy. Not that she could blame him; they hadn’t deviated far from their current location once they settled in, and the forest was exceedingly dull in the dead of winter.

“Let’s get started,” she abruptly blurted out, causing him to blink in confusion.

“With…?” he questioned, one of his eyebrows slowly rising.

Her expression darkened, her eyes glowing ever so slightly. “Taking out Killian and that bitch pretending to be me.”

He smirked at that, before teasingly replying, “And here I thought you might have forgotten.”

She smiled maliciously at that. “Hardly. I just wanted to wait until I had at least _some_ grasp on this casting magic business.” Her lips twisted into a smirk of her own before she added, “It’s a tad new to me, as you may recall. I’ll understand if you’re having a hard time remembering, old man.”

The trickster snarled at her, springing to his feet and staring her down. “I am _not_ old, you foolish Midgardian!” he bit out angrily, his nostrils unconsciously flaring somewhat. “I am only a few centuries shy of a millennium, a _very_ respectable age for my species!”

“And in my species’ years,” she retorted as her smirk grew even wider and taunting, “that makes you _old_ , so get used to it, _old man_.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his hand twitching as though he would like nothing better in this world than to shove an icicle through her skull. “You are positively infuriating,” he replied, his calm voice starkly out of place with his poisonous glare.

The petite genius laughed openly at that, remarking, “You get used to it, or so I hear,” before giving him a playful wink.

The trickster actively fought the urge to snort at her. _I would have never thought that I would enjoy being around someone as brash as her, especially since I detest Thor’s impetuous, cocky attitude,_ he thought to himself. _And yet… I am._ He pushed the matter aside for the time being, thinking, _This will require more thought and introspection, but this is not the time. For now…_ “Time will tell,” he simply replied as the sharpness in his eyes faded away. “For now, how would you like to proceed?”

Megan pouted somewhat at his refusal to rise to her bait, but she also quickly returned to the much more pressing matter. “I think the best course of action for now would be to go back to D.C. That’s where that sick fuck injected me with Extremis, so we might be able to get some intel there.”

“Intel?” he asked, confused by the unfamiliar term.

She rolled her eyes affectionately, somewhat surprising herself with the feeling behind it, before quickly explaining, “It’s slang for ‘information,’ often used in reference to knowledge about one’s enemies.” Once he nodded, silently affirming that he understood her, “It would _really_ help to know what the hell we’re dealing with. It’s been almost six months since they displaced me, and while they couldn’t have gotten _too much_ in the way of resources out of my company without dealing with Pepper, I have _no clue_ what A.I.M. had at their disposal at any point. That’s a hell of a blind spot, and fixing it could help us figure out the best way to approach them on a macro — err, _large scale_ , that is — level.”

 _Perhaps this is why I’m growing… fond of her. She’s a cheeky shit at the best of times, but she’s a_ brilliant _cheeky shit._ “I agree. It’s a very sound approach. We can take the head of the beast later.”

“Excellent!” she replied before lightly frowning and adding, “Although there’s one… potential problem we need to account for.”

“Being recognized, yes?” the trickster asked. “I was about to bring the matter up myself.”

Her frown reversed direction, curling up into a small, pleased smile. _Always good to know I’m not the only person in a group who’s worth anything at strategizing._ “Did you have any thoughts about it? There are some more… mundane approaches we could take, but as the resident ‘master of magic’ (She barely resisted the urge to giggle at herself for quoting what he said before her first mana use lesson. She suspected, quite correctly, that doing so would elicit displeasure from him at the very least.) with an affinity for illusions, I figured you probably have better solutions.”

“Well,” he murmured after a taking a few seconds to mull over some ideas. “First, I should point out that permanently transforming your physical body in the same manner as I did when I restored your female body would not work. It only did so then for very complicated reasons.”

She shuddered before snapping out, “Don’t even _think_ about it, mister! I only just got my body back, so I am _not_ okay with you doing that in the slightest.” She wrapped her arms around herself in a hug, shivering despite being unaffected by the objectively cold temperatures. “To be honest, I was rather hoping you’d have something more _temporary_ that you could do magically. Something that could be easily turned on and off. I…” She cringed slightly but proceeded anyway. “I don’t even really like the idea of using certain non-magical, temporary means — like hair dye. At his nonplussed look, she hastily added, “There are ways to change your hair color without magic, and dye is one of them. Anyway, even if it was the type that washed out immediately, I would really _really_ like to be able to reassure myself I’m still me on a moment’s whim.”

“Fortune smiles upon you,” he replied smugly, “as I know something that will meet all of those needs.” He savored for a moment the relief and thankfulness that visibly washed over her at his words, pleased (Strangely so, or so he felt.) that he could generate such a reaction from her. “Temporary illusions placed directly on a physical form are obviously possible,” he continued, illustrating his point by briefly changing her skin color orange before restoring it once she noticed, “but since you want to activate and deactivate it at will, it would require less mana to conjure an item for you to wear that will apply a preset illusion to you when you do so. Say, for instance, something like this.” With a simply gesture from his right hand, a full-face mask appeared out of thin air in his left. Its silver-colored metal material made it somewhat shimmery and reflective, and when she looked at it with particular focus on feeling any magic, she could feel the faintest threads of its magical origin. Although she couldn’t know for certain until she wore it whether it would fit her face’s every contour perfectly, she strongly suspected that it would. ( _Because magic, baby_ , she thought to herself.) “The only question,” he finished, “is what the illusion should be.”

Her jaw had dropped at the simplicity of it all. “Wait, you can enchant this to change how I look only when I wear it?”

Mischief danced clearly in his eyes as he simply replied, “Size, ability, imagination, affinity.”

She burst into laughter at that. “Touché!” She took it from his hands, handling it with something akin to reverence. “Thank you, Loki,” she murmured after a moment of staring at her distorted reflection in the mask. “This is perfect.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he drawled. “We still haven’t tied an illusion to it. The only thing I’ve done so far is conjure a mask.”

She opened her mouth to reply before her eyes suddenly danced in delight, a wonderful joke occurring to her. “Oh my god, I’m being given a mask by Loki, and it will transform me when I wear it. Is it going to make me a green guy (She unconsciously shuddered at saying that part, despite knowing she wasn’t serious and that his actions and words indicated that he wouldn’t do such a thing to her.) in a yellow suit?”

He stared at her for a moment, completely nonplussed, before finally replying, “I’m going to presume this is another of your ‘pop culture’ references, and that you do not honestly believe such a thing is going to happen.” When she gave him a shit-eating grin, he muttered something unsavory beneath his breath as he brought his focus back to the mask, his eyes narrowing slightly in concentration. After a moment, his facial expression relaxed as he said, “There, give it a try.”

Despite her best efforts to not show how much doing this was affecting her, her arms and hands trembled nervously as she slowly lifted the silver mask to her face. When it was only an inch away she took a deep, steadying breath, steeled herself, and practically slammed it against her flesh, her nerves not allowing for anything less. Even though objectively she knew that she had felt nothing change, she began to hyperventilate, collapsing to her knees as she began to feel dizzy.

“Megan!” she heard him yell before suddenly feeling warm arms latch around her, a strength belying their appearance holding her in place as she began to keel over onto her side.

It took a minute, but eventually, her hyperventilating subsided as his presence strangely began to comfort her. _Why?_ she asked herself. _Why is he making me feel like this?_ She had no answer for herself and eventually settled for simply filing the matter away to be looked into later. “S-s-sorry,” she finally managed to stammer out as her breathing finally reached a more natural rhythm. “I didn’t… Fuck it, it’s scary, okay? Even though I can just take the mask off whenever I want, it’s still fucking scary to be anyone other than me right now, you know?” She tilted her head back, daring to look up into his face, to see the leer that she was certain was there, to face the expected ‘You are weak’ with her face held high. Expectations were different than reality, however: The trickster was gazing away into the forest, his embarrassment at their proximity apparent and, more importantly, a hint of understanding in his pale green eyes. “Loki?” she breathed out in wonder, mentally chiding herself for sounding so thunderstruck. _Allies or not, this is_ Loki _. You shouldn’t let down your guard!_

Unfortunately, such thoughts were hard to maintain when he finally tore his eyes away from whatever imaginary object he had been studiously examining and tilted his face down to face the shorter woman, her sky blue eyes drawing him in even as his cheeks grew redder. “You are unfortunately familiar with the experience of having to live in a body not your own against your will. It is… expected that you would be anxious about anything even loosely related.” He glanced away then, the redness of his cheeks reaching a peak as he muttered, “Are you able to support yourself?” When she slowly and slightly nodded, her eyes never abandoning his face, he carefully released his grip then abruptly stood and moved away, turning to face any direction that didn’t include her. “So you know,” he said, discomfort still tainting his tone somewhat, “The mask isn’t actually changing you. I felt it best to merely tie an outward illusion to it that doesn’t affect us.”

Her jaw dropped, though the mask did not fall off, magically held in place and adjusting to the movement. _Was he seriously this thoughtful on purpose? That’s… actually really sweet._ “T-thank you,” she muttered, her lips curling into a soft smile as her own cheeks dusted with pink, not that he could see. “Knowing there’s no physical change makes me feel _a lot_ better.”

“Excellent,” he replied, a certain degree of pride slipping into his voice. He turned back to face her, his expression schooled, giving nothing away. “I thought as much. Are you ready to return to your city of Washington, D.C. then?”

She carefully considered that, checking to see if there was anything that might give her away if they ran into the wrong people. First, she knew she would look like someone else to other people. Also, her clothing, which the trickster had conjured for her aboard the plane at her request, was entirely different than anything she would usually wear: An electric blue babydoll tee that brought out her eyes (Though she knew the likelihood that this was the case with her mask’s illusion was slim.); a short collared steel gray jacket with long sleeves, the half inch collar extending straight up, just off of her neck and the long sleeves covering her arms down to her wrists; and slim and comfortable charcoal jeans that fed into her tall, black combat boots. All that really left was a similar disguise for him and…

“Our names,” she said aloud.

“What?” he asked, confused by her non-answer.

“We can’t just keep using our real names,” she explained. “If S.H.I.E.L.D. is listening in and hears us calling ourselves ‘Megan’ and ‘Loki,’ they’ll start paying closer attention to us than we want them to.”

“That seems ridiculously paranoid,” the trickster argued. “You really think such a measure is necessary?”

Her expression darkened. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is _always_ listening. They found out about my plans to construct my combat suit before I started to build it. I am _not_ being burned like that twice.”

Although his expression said he found the notion dubious at best, he carefully replied. “If you think that’s best…”

“I do.”

“Very well. What are we to call ourselves then?”

The rumble of thunder overhead drew their eyes skyward — Loki because the sound still made him think of his ‘brother,’ and Megan because she was growing to love the hallmark of her affinity — as a flurry of wind sent some of the powdery snow around them swirling into the air. She slowly smiled as she watched the flakes dance hypnotically in the sky as they fell back to the Earth. _Well, we have our affinities, don’t we?_ “Tempest and…” She tilted her head, pondering for a moment before adding, her eyes alight with mischief, “Sleet?”

“You honestly expect me to answer to the name ‘Sleet’?” he asked derisively. “If you wish to be called ‘Tempest,’ that is your prerogative, but I refuse to be called something as ridiculous as ‘Sleet.’”

She gave him a wry grin, quipping back, “Aw, are you sure? I think it’s both fitting and rather cute.”

He met her laughing eyes with a dark look. “No.”

“Spoilsport!” she joshed, giggling at his expression. “But seriously, ‘Loki’ still won’t do. Is just ‘L’ okay?”

Loki barely resisted the urge to groan. “ _Fine_ ,” he ground out. “Now may we please get moving?”

‘Tempest’ pushed herself back up to her feet, dusting the snow off of her now quite wet jeans. “Lead the way, Mr. L!” she cheerfully replied. Without warning, a snowball smashed into her face, causing her to sputter indignantly. “Hey!”

By the time she wiped the snow from her eyes, Loki had already begun leading the way back to the highway. “Of course, _Tempest_.”

She rushed to catch up, a silly grin on her face as she replied, “Oh, no need to be so formal! ‘Tem’ will be just fine.” The trickster didn’t bother to dignify that with a response.


	4. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Incorruptible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“Spoilsport!” she joshed, giggling at his expression. “But seriously, ‘Loki’ still won’t do. Is just ‘L’ okay?”_

_Loki barely resisted the urge to groan. “_ Fine _,” he ground out. “Now may we please get moving?”_

_‘Tempest’ pushed herself back up to her feet, dusting the snow off of her now quite wet jeans. “Lead the way, Mr. L!” she cheerfully replied. Without warning, a snowball smashed into her face, causing her to sputter indignantly. “Hey!”_

_By the time she wiped the snow from her eyes, Loki had already begun leading the way back to the highway. “Of course,_ Tempest _.”_

_She rushed to catch up, a silly grin on her face as she replied, “Oh, no need to be so formal! ‘Tem’ will be just fine.” The trickster didn’t bother to dignify that with a response._

* * *

**Incorruptible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Chapter Four: The Return_

“I’m like evil, I get under your skin — just like a bomb that’s ready to blow.”

AC/DC, _Shoot to Thrill_

* * *

 

**Thursday, December 29th, 2005 @ 10:05a, EST | The Sidewalk Outside Tysons Corner, Washington, D.C.**

Megan glanced nervously at the throngs of people everywhere in sight as she and Loki slipped out of the taxi, a brief gesture from the trickster ensuring the cabbie conveniently forgot to ask for their fare. _Welcome back to the real world, Meg,_ she thought to herself as she wordlessly led her companion into Tysons Corner. The public actively ignored homeless people in general, and for the past few days, Loki had kept them invisible to non-magical eyes. Now, however, she was once again a visible part of the world, and it felt decidedly strange to her that she could once again feel the gazes of strangers upon her. Without consciously thinking about it, she glanced to her left as they passed through the threshold, her eyes seeking out her companion.

Even if he hadn’t been at her side and matching her pace, it would have been impossible to miss the green and gold clad Jotun. Unlike her, he was not wearing a mask, but as he had explained on the plane ride to D.C., applying illusions to himself came as easily as breathing to him. Why go through the trouble of using a mask when he could merely enchant himself to appear like an average human to passerby and his normal self to her? Her gaze didn’t go unnoticed, his lips curling into a light smirk. “All right, _Temmy_?” he asked, a spark of mischief flickering within his pale green eyes.

She rolled her own eyes at that, her nervousness dispelled as she swatted him lightly. “And who said you could call me that, you ass? I only gave you license to call me ‘Tempest’ and ‘Tem,’ as I recall.” Without waiting for a reply, she snagged his hand and dragged him over to a nearby map, gleefully noting his obvious embarrassment at her touch. _Tables: Turned._

“As I recall, you are the one who insisted on this pseudonym foolishness,” the flustered Jotun muttered as he attempted to free himself from her iron grip, his cheeks now flaming red. “I am merely responding with foolishness in kind.”

“And I am responding to _your_ foolishness with yet more of the same,” she easily quipped back. “See how well ‘eye for an eye’ works?” Once they reached the map, she took mercy on him and released her hold, focusing on the map as her eyes scanned for the store she needed.

The trickster managed to resist the urge to huff indignantly, settling for merely crossing his arms and looking anywhere but at her, a scowl on his face. A somewhat hoarse laugh caught his attention, drawing his eyes to an older gentleman sitting on a nearby bench who was glancing up from his morning paper, his eyes narrowing somewhat as he realized the chuckling man found _him_ funny. “Come now, why so flustered, boy?” the wispily haired, elderly man said with a grin, unaware that he was not teasing a brown-haired young man at the mall with his strawberry-blonde date, but rather teasing Loki, the Norse trickster god about traveling with the famous — or infamous, depending on whom one asked — Megan Stark. “When I was your age, I would have done anything to go on a date with such a beautiful woman!” he finished, sending Megan a shamelessly playful wink.

Miraculously, the disguised trickster was for once not confused by Midgardian terminology. “We are not on a _date_!” the disguised trickster viciously snapped out. “Why would I ever bed her?!” Loki flinched as the hissing sound of breath being drawn in sharply through clenched teeth reached his ears. Resisting the urge to flinch, he slowly turned his gaze back to his companion and found that, yes, she _was_ glaring at him with faintly glowing blue eyes. No words were said as she abruptly turned and stomped off, leaving the now flustered Jotun behind.

A low whistle drew his attention back to the elderly man as he simply remarked, “Well, kids these days certainly now how to woo the ladies,” before returning to his morning paper as if he hadn’t just witnessed a relationship — at least what he clearly believed to be one — implode right before his eyes.

The trickster muttered something unsavory under his breath before turning on his heel and chasing after the now gone genius. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd, but he saw no sign of her, which ought to have been easy, given that he could clearly see through his own illusions when he chose. He swallowed the urge to groan, instead reaching out with his senses. Immediately, he could feel the faintest traces of magic lingering in the air, the trail left by the active illusion on her mask. He did not follow it, however. He was Loki Laufeyson, the trickster god, and though he was not the most skilled in active confrontation, he was more than adept at planning, including contingency planning. “There,” he muttered as he felt the strong tug of the illusion on her mask and began to stalk towards it. Ordinarily, a mana user wouldn’t forge a direct trace between themself and an enchantment they had cast, as it created a consistent drain on one’s mana that grew exponentially greater the further the connection was. If such a trace had existed between the Allfather and Mjölnir when he cast the hammer into Midgard, even the mighty Odin would have begun to rapidly feel the drain. The trickster knew, however, that a distance as short as two people within the same city, much less the same building, created a negligible drain at best.

A brief walk and ride on an escalator later (An experience that Megan would later regret missing, as the look on the trickster’s face when he realized that humans had created moving stairways without mana was priceless.), Loki found himself entering a brightly lit store with a lone, brilliantly white apple in lieu of a sign with words. He saw the glint of her silver mask in an instant and quickly crossed the room to where she was trying to politely explain to an employee that no, she did _not_ need him to explain how to use the laptop she was standing by, and that he should go attend to literally anyone but her.

“—nestly, I _really_ don’t need any help wi—” Her sky blue eyes suddenly locked onto the approaching Jotun, a dark look settling over her features as she bit out, “ _You_!”

“Me,” he simply replied as he reached the spot next to her. Without sparing a glance at the employee now nervously glancing alternately at his calm expression and her livid one, the trickster remarked, “I believe the lady has already explained that your help is unwanted, yes?”

“R-right,” the employee replied nervously. “I’ll just, uh, let you two try out the hardware.”

As the man scampered off to the opposite side of the store, Megan abruptly turned her attention back to the laptop, her face strangely placid as she pulled up the terminal and began to rapidly type in lines of code that made no sense to Loki. They stood there in silence for a moment, neither saying anything as windows began to open and display information to the genius while she continued to type in seemingly endless rows of code. Eventually, the trickster said, “For what it’s worth, I did not intend to say what I did.”

“That’s it?” she responded, her tone as cold as his skin and her focus on her task never faltering. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What are you expecting me to say?”

That broke her concentration. “ _Really_?” she asked, turning to give him an utterly flabbergasted look. “You really don’t think you should _apologize_ for telling a fucking stranger that you would never ‘bed’ me?!” she whispered furiously, not wanting to make another scene.

“I’m confused,” he honestly answered. “Are you saying you _want_ me to bed you?”

Megan simply stared at him. “Do you really expect me to believe you don’t understand how offensive that was?” she asked, measuredly watching him with narrowed eyes.

The trickster blinked, his expression the very epitome of nonplussed. “I do expect that, yes, since I have said nothing that would offend non-Midgardian ears. This must be another facet of your realm’s peculiar culture.”

 _Heavens… I really think he’s genuinely confused,_ Megan thought with wonder. “Okay, I’ll, uh, explain it to you then… See, when someone says, ‘I would never bed that person,’ or something similar, it’s often considered an insult because you’re essentially saying, ‘That person isn’t good enough for me to have sex with them.’ Does that make sense?”

“I understand that,” Loki answered, “but you still have yet to explain _why_ I would have sex with you.”

She scowled at his poor choice of wording but did her best to contain her ire, suspecting there was still a misunderstanding. “Why don’t _you_ explain why you would _not_ have sex with me?”

“I should think it obvious,” he began, which naturally did nothing to make her happier with him. Thankfully, he continued, “If you and I had sex, we could not reproduce.”

After a few moments of silence, she finally asked, utterly exasperated, “That’s it? Non-Midgardians honestly only have sex in order to reproduce?”

“Yes?”

“Wow. I’m… honestly not sure what to say about that.” She paused for a second, took a deep breath, then added, “Well, Midgardians _do_ have sex for reasons other than reproduction. It can be an expression of love, enjoyment of someone else’s beauty, simply having fun, and all kinds of other reasons. So look at it this way: When you said you wouldn’t ‘bed’ me, you were essentially saying that having sex with me couldn’t possibly be enjoyable.” _Ugh, this whole thing is only_ intensely _mortifying._ “ _Now_ do you see why that was offensive?”

He stared at her for a moment before chuckling. “Midgardians are _so_ peculiar. Yes, I see why you find it offensive. I trust you understand that I meant no offense?”

“Yes, I see that,” she said with a sigh, “but _you_ need to remember that you’re in _my_ world — you’re in Midgard. As long as you’re here, do try to avoid making an ass out of yourself?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Only if you explain the problem _before_ you angrily stomp off the next time I stumble upon one of Midgard’s idiosyncrasies.”

She flushed. “Fair enough.”

“So then,” he said, gesturing at the laptop. “Care to explain what you are doing?”

“Sure,” she said, internally breathing a sigh of relief as they returned to safer territory. “I’m establishing a secure connection with one of Stark Industries’ secure servers in order to figure out what the hell Killian and my Doppelgänger have been up to.”

“Delightful,” Loki drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm as she turned back to the laptop and began to once again type furiously. “Now then, care to explain what _that_ means?”

She smiled. _Now_ this _is the type of Loki confusion I’m more comfortable with._ “Basically, I’m trying to spy on the bad guys.” Something about that didn’t quite sound right to her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it, so she just focused on the task at hand. _Okay, let’s take a little look at Jarvis’ logs…_ Slowly but surely, her eyes widened as she quickly scanned through the swath of information. _What the hell? Jarvis hasn’t noticed anything amiss? That makes no sense unless… Unless he’s been corrupted — shit. Fuuuuck… Well, time for Plan B: The hidden backup server._

With deft skill, she quickly opened up a connection to the server she purposefully kept isolated from the main Stark Industries servers.

[Jarvis,] she typed. [Open a discrete connection to the main server and check when the main server’s OS was last updated.]

The AI’s reply swiftly appeared on screen. [Hello, ma’am. The last update was applied on 07/14/2005 at 06:15p.]

 _Well, shit. Those two worked fast._ She released a low, light growl. _I don’t understand! How on earth did they pull this off so smoothly? Even with a doppelg_ _ä_ _nger of me, someone would ha_ — Her eyes shot open wide with terror as an awful thought struck her. _No… No! No no_ no _! It couldn’t have happened to them too!_

The lights in the room began to flicker as she unconsciously called out to the nearby electricity, seeking comfort in the flow of the currents. “Tempest,” Loki tightly whispered as he placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Reign in your mana.”

 _Keep it together, Megan! You don’t know that… that they replaced them_ too _! And even if it’s true, you won’t be able to fix this if you fuck up now!_ “I’m doing my best,” she managed to say, her shaky voice causing the Jotun’s eyebrows to rise. “Can you… can you buy me another minute?”

“Not really, seeing as I don’t understand how any of these machines _work_ ,” he drawled. “I can’t create an illusion of something I don’t understand. Or have you forgotten the third limitation again?”

“Then make us invisible or something!” she replied as she hastily began to type to Jarvis again. [Confirm which suits are still active and their current locations.]

[Marks I through IV are no longer in storage at Malibu,] the AI replied as Loki cast an illusion over where they stood, removing them from the eyes of the employees frantically trying to figure out what was happening to the store’s electricity. [Security footage indicates that they were taken by a team of men on 07/20/2005, and they haven’t been seen on a Stark Industries site since. They had security clearance to your residence, which was granted by you and approved by Mr. Hogan on 07/19/2005; no background checks are on file for any of them. The two Mark Vs are still at Stark Tower, but there are also a number of extras stored with them. There are ten Mark Vs at Stark Tower in total: The two you had me make after ‘Ghost’ stole your original, seven newly created suits, and the original suit stolen by ‘Ghost.’ All have been modified by you, according to security footage. All remaining suits are still in the sub-basement storage at Malibu.]

 _Approved by Happy_ without _background checks? There’s no way the real Happy would do that… Fuck!_ Faced with proof of her fears, Megan’s control of her mana finally slipped, causing all of the electricity in the room to abruptly surge into her. The laptop she was using blacked out, its battery drained, and all of the lights in the store and most of those in the nearby stores and walkways died as well.

“Time to go,” Loki muttered to himself as he grabbed Megan and bolted out of the store, dodging the guards as he carried her like he had mere days earlier when they raced across the rooftops of Washington, D.C.

Less than a minute later, he had gotten them out of the alley. Unfortunately, everything that ran on electricity was still failing, often violently, in her presence, so he had to keep moving, sticking to the alleys as much as possible. “I would great appreciate it if you _stopped_ lashing out with your mana!” he muttered, clearly frustrated as he detoured up a stairwell onto a roof and began to race across the rooftops.

“They… they replaced…” she began to explain before trailing off, tears rolling down her cheeks as she struggled to tell him why she was freaking out. The trickster was silently relieved that he was already looking away from her. Eventually, she managed to blurt out, “They replaced Happy! They replaced him just like they replaced me with a fake!” She gripped her short, black hair tightly in her hands, balling it up as she sobbed out, “They took him, and they almost certainly took more of the people I love! I fucking knew it! I knew there was no way they could have fooled my family… They’re probably all gone… Pepper, Rhodey, D-Danny, B-B-Bruce…” She trailed off again, descending once more into a fit of sobs.

The sound distracted Loki enough that he lost his footing while landing on a roof, causing the duo to come to a skidding, halt in the middle of it. Megan cried out in surprise, but before he could see what happened to her, his head slammed into the roof, the velocity of the fall knocking him out.

* * *

_Frigga rapped her knuckles against the ajar door of Loki’s room, calling out, “Loki, darling, whatever is wrong?”_

_“Nothing!” the dark-haired little boy cried out, squeaking because he had spoken mid-sob. He abruptly turned away from Frigga, attempting to discretely wipe at his eyes and stop sobbing but failing miserably._

_“Come now,” she lovingly said as she kneeled down and wrapped her arms tightly around him, embracing him as she rocked lightly, attempting to soothe her clearly distraught son. “You can’t hide anything from me, little one. Tell me what’s wrong, and I will do what I can to make it better.”_

_“You won’t!” the boy sobbed, a chill suddenly seizing the room as his mana reacted to his despair, trying to make his surroundings more comforting to the unknowing Jotun._

_“And what makes you think that, darling?” she softly murmured, never ceasing her rocking._

_The boy didn’t reply for a long time, instead whimpering as he sought solace in his mother’s embrace, in the rhythm of her movements. “It was Thor,” he eventually whispered once he had calmed down, succumbing to the peace of his mother’s presence. “He and his friends wouldn’t play with me again, and when I told him I was going to tell you about it, he said, ‘Go ahead, I’m the favorite son anyway!’” He twisted in her arms, his watery, bloodshot pale green eyes seeking out her warm, sky blue ones. “It’s not true, is it?” he softly and fearfully asked, afraid of what she would say while simultaneously needing to know._

_Frigga carefully moved her hands to her son’s shoulders, gently squeezing them as she said, “I love you both equally, Loki, and I always will.”_

_Slowly, he smiled and wrapped his arms around her as best as he could, knowing in his heart that she was sincere. “I love you too, Mother.”_

* * *

“L! Hey, are you okay?! What’s wrong?”

The trickster’s eyes snapped open as he became conscious of his surroundings once more, the memory fading away. When he realized that Megan, who had recovered from her earlier emotional moment while he was out, had her hands on his shoulders and was attempting to rouse him, he swiftly shot to his feet and put distance between them. “Nothing,” he lied as he looked at anything but her. “Nothing at all.”

The petite woman cocked her head at his reaction, confusion filling her eyes. “You’re sure nothing’s wrong? You don’t need to hide anything from me. Maybe I can help?”

“You can’t!” the trickster god bit out icily as he froze the water in his eyes and discretely banished it away, a trick he had long perfected over the years to maintain his image.

“Look, you know more about magic than me, but you don’t know everything else I can do. How could you know I can’t possibly help?”

He didn’t reply to that. She was correct in one regard: He _didn’t_ know everything she could do. That being said, he seriously doubted anything could help, however, so he didn’t want to concede the point, lest she push him even more to talk about something he did _not_ want to talk about — much less with her. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he utterly failed to hear her approach him — an opportunity she used to abruptly wrap him up in a tight hug. “What are you doing?! Unhand me!” he angrily said, snarling as he attempting to escape her grasp.

“No!” she snapped back, unconsciously infusing her muscles with mana in order to hold her grip. “Look, even though I can get really, _really_ emotional, I’m not an expert in handling other people’s emotions. Still, I’m not blind: You clearly need a hug. You’ve saved me from my own personal hell and gotten me out of a ton of bad situations the past few days, so the _least_ I can do is give you a goddamn hug. Now shut up and enjoy it!”

“‘Shut up and enjoy it?’” Loki repeated in disbelief, still struggling against her mana strengthened grip. “Is that honestly supposed to be comforting?”

“Like I said: Not an expert,” she dryly quipped back. “I’m just… just trying to do what my mom would’ve done, okay?”

After struggling for a few more moments in vain, Loki finally acknowledged to himself that he couldn’t break the petite woman’s grip and just sulked. It was very apparent that the hug was incredibly awkward for both of them, but nevertheless, the sat there for a few moments, just letting the strange moment pass by. Eventually, Megan relinquished her grip, and Loki immediately put distance between them and, as usual, began to look at anything but her.

“Sorry,” she murmured looking down at the roof with an abashed expression. “That… probably just made it worse, didn’t it?” When he said nothing, she groaned, taking his silence for an answer. “Fuck… I was just… I’m sorry.”

“Megan,” he suddenly said, forgetting entirely to use her new name as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. She looked up, her sky blue eyes still bloodshot from earlier and the telltale watery sheen of held back tears renewed. He could see the truth in them: She was upset and not just because of whatever she had read earlier in the store; she was upset that she couldn’t comfort him. The realization that she genuinely cared about him caused the faintest of smiles to tug at his lips. “You tried,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Slowly, a small smile of her own grew.

* * *

“That’s the one,” Megan said as she landed on the roof, having transported herself in lieu of being carried for once.

A split second after her, Loki landed and turned his pale green eyes to follow her pointing finger. The A.I.M. facility was still as nondescript as the day she had first walked into it and, judging by the ‘For Sale’ signs in the ground floor windows, it was not in use.

When she released a soft moan, the trickster returned his gaze to his companion, watching her carefully as she fought to keep her breathing under control. “This getting ridiculous, Tempest,” he said. “Just tell me what to look for in there, and I will go find it, so you don’t have to go in.”

She sighed, clearly annoyed with her own reactions as much as he was. “I wish that were doable, but you don’t know how to turn on a computer, much less hack it. I’ll have to go in too.” Her words brought to Loki’s mind an image of her roughly cutting up a device like the one she had used at the Apple store. He wasn’t sure why _that_ would be necessary, so he correctly assumed that she was using the word in a manner he was unfamiliar with. Regardless, he silently conceded the point and resigned himself to the possibility of having to carry her away — again. As if she could read his thoughts, she suddenly quipped, “But who knows! Maybe I’ll carry you to safety for once, perhaps? Wouldn’t that be a twist?”

Unable to help himself, he softly snorted at that. “As if that would happen.”

“Shall we make a wager then?” she asked with a grin, their banter helping her center herself. “If something happens in there, and I have to carry you to safety, then you stop giving me shit about the times you carried me.”

He stared at her for a moment, flabbergasted by his mind’s image of himself handing her fecal matter, but once again chalked it up as humans coming up with nonsensical uses of words. Aloud, he asked, “And if _I_ once again have to save _you_ , what do I win?”

“Hm…” she hummed as she thought. “Then you don’t have to call me ‘Tempest’ anymore. Deal?”

The trickster smirked at that. “Deal. Now, how do you propose we enter?”

“Well,” she began, “if A.I.M. _did_ leave anything here, the building would undoubtedly protected by a security system, and there would almost certainly be _someone_ here on guard duty. How do your illusions affect infrared?”

He pinched his nose and muttered, “What is infra—”

“Heat,” she calmly interjected with a soft smile. “Humans have a way to see things through the heat they emit. So even if we were completely invisible, an alarm that detects changes in heat would notice we were there.”

The Jotun stared at her, unable to hide the small degree of astonishment in his gaze. After a moment, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘without mana?’ before continuing in a normal voice, “I do not know for certain, but in theory, I should be able to account for it.”

“Delightful,” she remarked with a wry grin. “In that case, entering under cover of illusion is one option. The cost of that method, however, is some of your limited mana. On the other hand, I could potentially shut down any security system by draining the electricity of… Oh, let’s say a couple of blocks — that’s a measurement of distance in cities. The pro to that method is there’s no cost to your reserves. Unfortunately, it’s a lot riskier, the predominant risk being that such an entry doesn’t account for the potential guard, who would then be on notice about something strange happening. So! I’d say the best way to enter the building would be under illusion, if you’re able and willing to spare the mana.”

Loki nodded his assent, her reasoning appearing to be sound. “I both can and will do so, if you feel that’s the best approach.”

Her grin grew larger as she answered, “It’s settled. Time for a little breaking and entering.”

“What is ‘br—’”

“The point is: Let’s do this.”

* * *

 _This is going well,_ Megan thought to herself as the duo carefully traversed the hallways of the building. _Maybe too well?_ Like all the external indications, the first floor of the building had the appearance of being abandoned. Once they had descended down the several flights of stairs in the sole stairwell, Megan heard a din she was very familiar with. _A server room; perfect!_ She gestured for Loki to follow her and began to hastily follow the noise back to its source. Before long, she found a door clearly marked ‘Server’ that had an old fashioned lock rather than a card swipe. _Like, this is going_ really _well…_ She reached out and grabbed the doorknob firmly and twisted, and sure enough, the door was completely unlocked. _So well that — You know what? I better shut up before I jinx it._

Given the utter lack of security thus far, Megan opted to not bother asking Loki to maintain an illusion over the door and instead cleanly pulled it open. Immediately, the higher temperature of the room washed over the duo in a wave, eliciting some grumbles of discomfort from the Jotun. Well acquainted with spending time in room similar to this one, she paid the heat no mind and instead swiftly stalked over to the nearest interface. Before her partner so much as took a cautious step into the uncomfortable climate, she had already begun working her magic — the technological variety.

_Okay, A.I.M.… Time to tell me all your dirty little secrets._

* * *

Eric Savin sighed as he heard the phone on the nearby desk begin to ring. A.I.M. guard duty was like clockwork: Shifts were eight hours long, and every four hours, the security head in Miami would call in for a status check. By that point, the guard _should_ have completed a number of rounds through their designated area, so when the call came, they could report what they had — or, as was more often the case, what they had _not_ — seen. The calls and shifts were staggered so any given guard’s first status check would occur two hours into their first shift, which consequently meant the second check during a shift was essentially a reminder that they still needed to put in another two hours before they could go home.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’…” he muttered as he abandoned the lounge’s couch and crossed the room to where the device was incessantly ringing. _At least this shift is flying by quicker than usual. I could’ve sworn they called me not that long ago…_

Savin was always less than appreciative of the two hour reminder, since he viewed guard duty with utter disdain. When he first joined A.I.M., the think tank’s goals had been oriented on testing the limits of Extremis’ capabilities, and as a veteran, he had been one of the primary testers regarding combat capability. It was glorious, exhilarating work, but such a thing wasn’t meant to last. Over time, the group had shifted focus to infiltration by insertion, work he was decidedly less talented in. Despite his sincerest efforts to learn targets’ personalities and traits, his performance evaluations had been lackluster. And lackluster performance is how one got placed on guard duty.

The vet snatched up the wireless phone, but before he pressed the button to answer, he happened to catch sight of the time listed on the phone’s base — 11:28a. He blinked. _That’s not right… I shouldn’t be getting a call until 01:00p. What the hell’s going on?_ Curious, he finally answered. “Savin here.”

The clipped alto of his superior immediately asked, “Savin, what the hell are you doing in the server room?”

“Ma’am? I’m not doing anything. I’m in the lou—”

“Then _get over there_ , you moron!” she snappishly interrupted. “Someone’s using one of the interfaces!”

Despite his surprise, he hastily sprang into action, tossing the phone aside as he rushed out of the lounge in the direction of the server room. _Finally! Some action!_

* * *

Megan was by no means a greenhorn when it came to hacking — quite the opposite, in fact — but performing a hack directly on the target machine without the assistance of any of her own tech was a task with inherent, unavoidable risks. Keylogging software on a unit was one of these risks, and she was not surprised to find it present on the server interface. Naturally, she had exercised her consider skill to quickly neutralize it before she began plundering the depths of the server’s memory banks, but she had no way of knowing whether or not that action had been noticed.

 _Gotta work fast…_ She knew she might not have long, so her search for information had to be priority based. Although she desperately wanted any information she could get regarding Aldrich and her doppelgänger, she knew there was a distinct chance this server wouldn’t have that kind of data. A.I.M.’s base of operations, however, likely would. This building was clearly not that base, but as a satellite base, it would undoubtedly have _some_ kind of connection back to the main one. The balance of probability dictated that she should figure out where the main base was first.

Thankfully, the interface was actually quite quick, readily pulling up information less than a second after she called for it. Words were flying everywhere on the screen, a veritable typhoon of text as she carefully zeroed in on her prey. Ironically, the keylogging software that had resulted in Savin’s imminent approach provided her the answer. _There! The software reports back to this place in Miami. Now to see where Killian an_ —

Savin slammed the heel of his boots into the ajar door, kicking it fully open as he rushed in. Megan and Loki simultaneously whipped around at the noise, and because he was already weary from being in the presence of so much heat, the Jotun’s concentration slipped. The invisibility he had cloaked them with flickered, revealing their positions. That was all the vet needed: He instantaneously charged at Loki, who had stayed as close to the door as possible due to the heat. His body’s speed and strength supercharged from the Extremis pumping through his veins, he reached the trickster in an instant and delivered a severe blow to the head with a superheated fist that sent him flying backwards into a nearby wall. Between the force and heat of the attack, his already heat-weakened stamina, and the impact against the wall, Loki was knocked out, falling unconscious.

Megan had leapt into action herself at the same moment as him, and while she had been too far away to defend her conspirator, she countered with her own attack, viciously punching the vet back the direction he’d come from. Her momentum added to the force of the blow and sent her target careening straight into and through the wall, leaving him in a heap of wrecked drywall. _Yup. Knew it. I totally jinxed it. Way to go, Me._ She cast a quick glance at Loki, confirming that he was indeed out of commission. _Delightful._

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, she took advantage of her mystery opponent’s situation. She snatched the trickster and threw him over her shoulder in a fireman-­carry, the only manner she could effectively carry the larger Jotun, then dashed through the threshold of the server room, her mana surging through her veins. As she turned to race towards the stairwell, Savin burst out of the rubble from the hole in the wall and, catching sight of her, quickly followed in pursuit.

Although Megan had surprised herself with the ease and speed with which she was carrying Loki, a feat she assumed was related to infusing her body with mana, Savin wasn’t carrying anyone and had a greater stride thanks to his much longer legs. She managed to dart into the stairwell and climb all the flights, but the vet eventually caught up to her and tackled her legs, causing the three of them to crash to the floor. The fall caused her to lose her grip, and her still unconscious passenger was sent flying further down the hall as her pursuer fell on top of her.

Slamming his large hands down on her small shoulders and planting his elbows on her wrists, Savin demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

She slammed her head forward and into his noise, eliciting a sickening crunch and a sharp yelp of pain. Resisting the urge to smugly grin in satisfaction, she began to struggle under his weight, but he held onto her despite the pain, his grip like iron and unyielding. The sound and smell of sizzling flesh suddenly filled the air, and she watched in morbid fascination as his obviously broken nose began to heal. The cartilage audibly reset itself as an ominous red glow suffused the skin of the nose, like a fire was trying to break free from underneath his skin.

As the process finished itself, Savin winced, feeling the heat build-up inside of him reach dangerous levels. _Fuck, I need another dose ASAP! Gotta handle this quick._ “Ready to give up yet?” he asked, sneering at the navy-eyed brunette beneath him, unaware of who he was truly facing down.

Megan gave him a wide, toothy smile that wouldn’t have look misplaced on Loki, her silver mask magically adjusting to hold itself in place. “Oh, absolutely.” Without warning, her leg blurred into motion, slamming violently into his groin. “Running is clearly pointless,” she continued as he howled in pain and she hastily began to extract herself from beneath him once more. “So I’m giving up on it in favor of beating the shit out of you.”

Once she finally got her right hand free, she maneuvered herself so the back of her hand was against her gut and released an electrical blast. The magical projectile easily sent him flying diagonally off her and into the ceiling. He didn’t go through it, however, and instead fell back to the floor with a thud and several fresh lacerations. Wasting no time, she quickly pulled herself up onto her knee and, doing her best to envision a stunning variety of her attack, shot another blast at him. Thankfully, instead of sending her opponent flying down the hall, the electricity surged into him on impact, causing the vet to twitch violently for a moment.

She expected him to be knocked out, but when the attack sizzled out, he released a very audible groan. _End it now!_ a part of her screamed. _If it didn’t knock him out, he can still get back up. Don’t waste this chance to end the fight!_ Acknowledging the truth of that thought, she quickly closed the distance between them, pouncing onto him so that she was straddling his chest. Mana surged through her as she released a fearsome cry, causing her eyes and fists to glow with electric blue light, and she began to pummel his face. Blow after vicious blow, she struck Savin’s head, her mana-enhanced strength causing the floor beneath his skull to ripple with cracks. Though his Extremis infused body was more durable than the floor, eventually his skull gave way, caving in and exposing his brain. Lost in the heat of her anger, she paid this detail no heed and instead continued her assault, causing brain matter to splatter everywhere as she easily crushed the soft organ.

She finally stopped when a piece of brain flew straight through her mask’s eye socket and into her eye. With a yelp of surprise, she instinctively yanked the mask off her face and removed the organic projectile. She eyed it with disgust, blinking rapidly as her eye attempted to restore its equilibrium, and as she did so, it began to glow a bright red. All around her, pieces of Savin began to do the same.

“What the fuck?” she muttered as she watched the display. “Can he actually heal…” She trailed off as the piece of brain clenched between her thumb and index finger began to grow so hot that, despite her recently acquired resistance to temperature extremes body, it was beginning to burn her. She dropped it and scrambled to her feet, her mask still clenched in her other hand as she watched the floor underneath the vet’s scattered remnants begin to melt as they became superheated.

 _Okay, one of two things is happening,_ she thought to herself as the air itself began to become too hot to bear. _Either he’s somehow managing to heal despite all of that damage, or I’m about to see what happens when the Extremis healing process breaks down. We need to get out of here!_ She turned away as she slapped her mask back into place causing the illusion of honey brown hair, navy eyes, and a pointed face to appear instead of her black hair, sky blue eyes, and heart shaped face. Dashing down the hall towards the still unconscious Loki, she snatched him up and once again threw him into a fireman-carry as she continued sprinting out of the building. The double doors at the end of the hall opened up into an alley behind the building, and there was thankfully a fire escape nearby. The dead weight of carrying a man nearly one and a half times her size obviously slowed her down, but the mana coursing through her made the process much quicker.

When she reached the top of the fire escape and took her first step onto the roof, it finally happened: A massive explosion violently tore through the A.I.M. building in a flash, releasing a shock wave that sent Megan careening head over heels across the rooftop she was about to traverse. Her grip on the trickster tightened, her knuckles white with exertion, and though her shoulder slammed into the roof, her momentum made her body flip and twist so her knees skidded across the rooftop until she came to a halt. She wasted no time, quickly and roughly pushing herself up to her feet, suspecting that an explosion that large must have… _Yup_ , she thought to herself as the building beneath her began to move, causing the rooftop to tilt back towards the blackened ruins of the A.I.M. base. _It knocked out the key supports of the nearby buildings._ She wobbled as her footing continued to shift, but with a grunt of effort, she infused her legs with mana and jumped towards the next rooftop.

To her surprise, she actually overshot, her legs flailing in panic as she watched not one, not two, but _three_ buildings go by beneath her. Regaining her equilibrium just before they crashed, her booted feet slammed onto the metallic roof, causing an awful banging noise as she collapsed onto her knee but otherwise managing  to avoid losing control. Her breaths came hot and quick, and adrenaline still coursed through her as she glanced down to check on her cargo. Miraculously, the Jotun was still out like a light, having remained unconscious even through the explosion. _Either way,_ she thought to herself, _we need to get away from the scene of the crime. The Triskelion is here in D.C., so S.H.I.E.L.D. will be here in minutes._

She heard sirens in the distance as she pushed herself back up and onto her feet, readjusting her hold on Loki as she did so. As she began to race across the rooftops once more, already experimenting with controlling the amount of mana she pushed into her legs, she pondered what to do next. _I know the address for A.I.M.’s main base, but I don’t know for sure whether Killian or my d_ _oppelg_ _ä_ _nger will be there._ She nibbled on her lip as she mulled the matter over, but the moment she heard the first hints of an approaching helicopter, she ceased her running and hastily plastered herself as close as she could to the side of a nearby roof access.

She glanced up as it passed overhead, and when she noticed the vehicle was in fact a VTOL, a delightfully dangerous thought occurred to her. _Of course! S.H.I.E.L.D. has probably been keeping tabs on me since I quit, so they should know where the fake me is now!_ Her eyes sought out the tall building in the distance known as the Triskelion: S.H.I.E.L.D.’s base of operations — a veritable lion’s den.

Before she could think any further on the matter, Loki groaned and began to gently twist in her arms. A split second later, however, he suddenly stiffened before violently flailing, his eyes snapping open as he succeeded in shoving himself out of her grasp. He grunted as he landed, his pale green eyes rapidly moving to assess the situation. The moment he noticed her presence, he asked, “What happened? Where are we? And _why_ were you _holding_ me?”

“Fight followed by an explosion, a roof a bit away from where we were, and _someone_ had to carry your unconscious ass to safety.” She couldn’t help but wonder why he had such a problem with physical contact, but she pushed her thoughts aside for the moment, knowing this wasn’t the time for musing. “How’re you feeling?”

The trickster opened his mouth, ready to deliver a snide remark, but the memory of their interaction earlier that day suddenly came to mind.

_“Sorry,” she murmured looking down at the roof with an abashed expression. “That… probably just made it worse, didn’t it?” When he said nothing, she groaned, taking his silence for an answer. “Fuck… I was just… I’m sorry.”_

“I’m fine,” he muttered before looking away, surprising even himself with his actions. _Bloody humans and their bloody sentiment… It must be contagious._

Megan blinked in surprise before unconsciously replying, “Good. I’m… glad.” Neither of them said anything further for a moment, and after nearly a minute of awkwardness, she finally continued. “So that wasn’t all for nothing.”

He quirked an eyebrow at that. “And how, pray tell, was that _not_ a wasted endeavor?”

A smile tugged at her lips. _There’s the Loki I know. Ever the sour puss._ “We now know where A.I.M.’s main base is, and beyond that, I know how to figure out exactly where my double is.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. But the best window for putting my plan into action is now, while S.H.I.E.L.D.’s attention is centered on who blew up a god damn building in the middle of the capital.”

The trickster god sighed before commenting, “I do hope your plan doesn’t get me punched in the face. _Again_.”

“No guarantees,” she quipped back unrepentantly, earning a dour glare in response. As the pair left the roof, Megan leading the way towards the Triskelion, she mischievously pointed out, “Oh and by the way, I totally won the bet.” As she landed on the next roof, a sheet of ice abruptly appeared without warning under her foot as she landed, causing her to slip and crash.

“Do watch your step, Tempest,” the Jotun remarked with the barest of grins. “It’s dangerous to not watch where you put your foot. You just might put it in your mouth.”

Megan, who had been busy untangling herself from the heap she had landed in, gaped at him. “Did you just make a _joke_? With a Midgardian _idiom_?!” she incredulously asked, so focused on his behavior that she completely missed her unintentional use of the term ‘Midgardian.’

“I _have_ been listening to you,” he replied dismissively. “Collecting ‘intel,’ as you would say. We are partners, so it would behoove me to speak your language.”

A smile tugged at her lips. _‘Partners…’ I’m really beginning to like that notion. I keep him safe from explosions, and he keeps me safe from my crippling phobias. Really not a bad deal._ “C’mon. Let’s keep moving.”

* * *

**Friday, November 1st, 2002 @ 03:03p, EST | Miami, Florida**

Maya Hansen took another sip from her black tea, savoring the flavor of the hot liquid as it passed over her tongue and caused its taste buds to scream with delight. In spite of the symphony of taste in her mouth, she released a long, weary sigh. There were few things in this world that she loved more than black tea, but even the power of that most wonderful of drinks could not lighten the burden resting upon her shoulders.

She glanced at the calendar tacked against the wall. _A year and seven months,_ she bitterly noted. _Five hundred seventy-nine days of failure. Gods, that’s depressing._ Her thoughts brought the events of April 1st, 2002, to the forefront of her mind once again.

* * *

_Maya sobbed with relief, her emotions swirling within her like a runaway maelstrom as she watched her boss’ body stabilize. “I did it…” she murmured, before promptly clapping a hand over her mouth, irrationally fearing that she might jinx the situation. Rather than say anything further, she did her best to collect herself and moved over to her desk. Snatching up a blood pressure cuff, stethoscope, and thermometer — all items she had been keeping on hand while testing antidotes on Aldrich — she quickly returned to the slowly recovering blonde still lying on his back on the floor._

_“Maya?” he weakly asked, his voice hoarse from the pain he had just endured, as she set about checking his vitals._

_“Hush for a sec,” she replied as she inserted the thermometer into his mouth and under his tongue. While she waited on that, she wrapped the cuff around his bicep, slipped the stethoscope just under the edge of it, and carefully listened. She only had a rudimentary familiarity with the process for checking somebody’s blood pressure, so it took her full concentration to perform the task. Pleased with his blood pressure, she withdrew the glass implement from under his tongue and smiled at its measurement. “You’re good. Perfectly fine now, in fact,” she pronounced, a wide smile breaking across her face as she did so._

_Aldrich released a heavy sigh of relief, his dark blue eyes seeking out her own, honey brown orbs. “Thank you, Maya.”_

_The scientist cringed at his words, the well of tears she had been holding back finally breaking free and carving watery tracks down her cheeks. “Why are you thanking me? My invention did this to you. You should_ hate _me right now!”_

 _“Don’t be ridiculous,” the blonde answered firmly, catching her off guard. “Yes, your invention is technically what was on the fritz, but I wouldn’t be in this predicament if I hadn’t chosen to put it into me. I nearly exploded because of my own brashness, and_ you _are the person who saved me. So_ thank you _, Maya.”_

 

* * *

Nearly every day since, she had been hard at work trying to find a way to cure Aldrich of his status as a living bomb. She had poured nigh countless hours into testing new formulae, her dedication so fanatical that Aldrich had to practically drag her away from her desk some days, persistently refusing to allow her to dedicate more than twelve hours per day to her search for the cure.

 _Well, ‘cure’ might not be the best way to refer to it,_ she admitted to herself. _If it all possible, he wants me to find a way to keep the strength and healing qualities Extremis provides, but I just don’t know that they can be separated from the… explosive side effect._

She rose to her feet, stretching her weary limbs before beginning to pace, periodically taking sips from her favorite drink. Her efforts over the past year and a half had not been entirely fruitless, though she personally viewed anything less than total success as a loss. A number of months back, she had succeeded in developing a new strain of Extremis that A.I.M. had taken to referring as ‘Extremis v1.1,’ and though it still carried with it the side effect of a burnout explosion, the new formulation took significantly longer to reach that point. Perhaps the strangest difference between it and the original Extremis was the new version internalized the state of the user’s body. Put simply, if the user was missing a limb when they injected themselves with Extremis v1.1, then that particular limb would not regrow, but the rest of the body would be restored if altered.

 _And I still have no fucking clue_ why _it does that,_ the exasperated Maya mused. _When it comes down to it, nothing about how any strain of Extremis works makes any rational sense. The effects are consistent within each strain, but there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for those effects to occur._ Giving up her pacing, the weary scientist plopped back into her chair and deposited her insulated mug on the desk. Propping her elbows on the desktop, she plopped her face down into her hands and fumed. _It doesn’t matter what Aldrich says,_ I’m _the one at fault for this. I created Extremis, and it’s flawed. I need to fix it, but I’m working with borrowed time; sooner or later, injecting fresh Extremis into Aldrich isn’t going to prevent a burnout._

She picked her head up and slumped back in her chair, its back tilting so that even with her head against the headrest, she was facing the ceiling and, beyond it, the heavens. She closed her eyes, fighting against the urge to cry. _I’m at my limit, and it’s going to get him killed. Please, God — any god — if you exist, then_ please _help me save him. I need a miracle._

* * *

**Thursday, December 29th, 2005 @ 12:02p, EST | A Public Bathroom on a Street Not Far from the Triskelion, Washington D.C.**

Megan sighed in relief as she removed her silver mask and glanced into the wall-length mirror over the sinks. _Hi, me. Good to see you’re still you._ Knowing Loki was outside and maintaining the illusion that the bathroom was temporarily out of order, she carefully set down the magical artifact he crafted just for her onto the counter and returned her attention to more mundane matters: Namely, she needed to pee.

Once her bare bottom had connected with the toilet seat and she had begun to answer nature’s call, she began to reminisce about the return of her body a few days prior. _As much help as he’s been, I wish Loki would stop hiding shit from me. He’s yet to explain what happened to the two people who attacked me or how he restored my body._ Both mysteries were vexing her, but she had held her tongue, not wanting to push her luck and risk the camaraderie growing between them. _Sooner or later I’ll draw the line and just ask, but I suppose that in the grand scheme of things neither is that important to know right now. What_ does _matter at the moment is getting the rest of my life back._

Her resolve renewed and her bladder relieved, she went about finishing up her bathroom break, leaving the donning of her mask for last.

* * *

Loki, meanwhile, was lost in thoughts of his own as he waited on a nearby bench for Megan to exit the doors he had covered with an illusion.

 _Why am I still here with her?_ This thought had been plaguing Loki since their impromptu journey to the land Megan had told him was called ‘Tennessee.’ This partnership was swiftly becoming more trouble than it was worth, yet he had continued to help her and accordingly left their deal in effect. Why?

 _It is cumbersome now,_ he rationalized, _but you’ve never been one to focus on the short-game. Her help will be invaluable later, and by helping her as much as I am now, I am developing our tenuous partnership into something more._

 _Yes, keep telling yourself that,_ a different part of him jeered. _We both know the real reason: You fancy her. You can see her standing at your side when you claim your rightful throne._ That notion brought to the front of his mind an image of his ally clad in regal garb that was fit for a warrior queen. _See?_ the traitorous part of his brain smugly added. _If you just wanted to exploit her, you’d have imagined her as the type of queen fit only for court appearances, who had been molded into a tool to be exploited. But you didn’t: You envisioned the real her. You want_ her _— the real one —_ _to like you!_

He internally scoffed. _What a ridiculous notion. Whyever would I be attracted to someone who’s easily as rash, if not rasher, than my idiot ‘brother?’_

The moment he thought this, however, his own behavior earlier that year during his brief war with the Earth came to mind. _“I want to know everything you can tell me about this team. I would… test… their mettle. I am weary of scuttling in shadow. I mean to rule this world, not burrow in it.”_

Fine. He could admit that he too had made hasty, and often unwise decisions. _But that still only eliminates reasons to not like her. It doesn’t explain why I_ should _like her._

Once again, a myriad of reasons readily came to mind: Her incredible brilliance, her rapidly developing power, her true concern for his well-being, and — if he was being honest with himself — her striking beauty. _Okay, so there are reasons enough,_ he begrudgingly admitted to himself. _But even if I accept the notion that I ‘fancy’ Megan, it wouldn’t work. It_ never _does. Women always spurn my advances once they discover my distaste for coitus._ He grimaced, closing his eyes and exhaling softly through his nostrils as he did his best to fend off the bevy horrible memories, also known as every sexual experience he’d ever had.

He had yet to calm down by the time the now refreshed Megan found him. “Loki?”

The Jotun trickster, who had been entirely engrossed in fending off his unfortunate past, lashed out in surprise. With the barest of gestures, a piece of ice shot into her stomach, knocking the breath out of her with a sharp ‘oof!’ and sent her skidding back a foot. Aware of reality once again, he cringed as he watched her harshly suck in a fresh lungful of air and rub at the frozen patch on her cami.

She quickly checked to see if they had attracted any unwanted attention. Once she’d confirmed that no one seemed to have seen the spontaneous materialization of ice, she broke the silence of the tense moment, asking, “So. Mind explaining why you did that?”

His eyes slid closed and he took a second to consider his words before he replied, “I inadvertently let me thoughts drift to bad places. I was trying to recover and did not notice your approach. You therefore… startled me.” He steeled himself then, knowing what he needed to say, and added, “I… apologize.”

She lightly cocked her head and carefully observed the raven-haired trickster for a moment, a thoughtful look in her sky blue eyes. “Okay. Apology accepted.”

Caught off guard by her quick acceptance, he inquired, “You do not seem upset.”

The question of ‘why’ went unspoken but not unnoticed. “It’s okay,” she easily answered, her lips curling into a small smile as she brushed off the last of the icy patch, only leaving behind a wet spot on her cami “You provided a perfectly acceptable justification for why you acted the way you did, no real harm was done, and you apologized without me needing to ask you to do it.”

His pale green eyes carefully watched her for any sign that she was exploiting him. Seeing none, he eventually gave her the slightest of nods — his own way of thanking her. When her lips curled up into a full smile, his heart seemed to beat just a tad faster than it had moments prior, and he studiously did his best to ignore it as he asked, “Shall we proceed?”

“Well, actually,” she began, her curiosity overcoming her. She lightly chewed on her bottom lip, pondering whether she should actual voice her question. “If… if you _don’t mind_ , would you—”

“Tell you what the ‘bad places’ I mentioned earlier are?” he interrupted, realizing what she was going to ask. He wearily sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes and debated whether or not to tell her.

“Yeah… I mean, again, you _don’t_ have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just figured that, you know, it’d help us… get to know each other better.”

Loki glanced away, resisted the urge to snort at that. _‘Get to know each other better’ indeed. Still…_ Thantos’ visage crossed his mind, the Mad Titan’s sickening grin promising him pain, should he ever be caught. _I need to keep our partnership alive. And if there was ever anyone who_ might _be understanding…_ His pale green eyes sought out her sky blue ones once again — the orbs bearing the same color as the only person who had ever truly cared for him. _It would be her._ “Answer me this: If I tell you this, if I tell you this truth about myself, would you ridicule me?”

Her jaw dropped slightly. _Wow… I really didn’t think he would consider telling me…_ Collecting herself, she immediately and levelly replied, “You _never_ ridiculed me for being who I am, even when we were on opposite sides of the battlefield. I will extend you that same courtesy.” As she said this, a piece of the knowledge Mjölnir had granted her came to mind: A formal oath that was very appropriate for this situation. She drew herself up to her full, albeit it still quite short, height, and she placed both of her hands on her sternum in the same place her arc reactor had been that July. Her left palm was flat against the skin left uncovered by her clothing, and her right palm was pressed against the back of her left hand in the same manner. She lifted her chin slightly, so she could more directly look into his startled pale green eyes as she pronounced, “I, Megan Alexia Stark, swear that I will never ridicule Loki Laufeyson for being himself.”

This time, it was Loki’s jaw that had dropped. _She willingly submitted to a binding oath without my needing to ask for it… Foolish woman…_ But in truth, he knew that she had just endeared herself to him. Had she leapt so readily into a binding oath with anyone else when it wasn’t a last resort, he would have been furious and thought her an idiot, especially since he had not promised to tell her anything, merely asking whether she would ridicule him. But for some reason he couldn’t explain, he was… happy, he admitted to himself, that she had been willing to do so for _him_.

They stood there for a minute, neither saying a word and Megan never lowering her hands from her chest. Finally, the trickster broke the silence, surprising himself when he admitted aloud, “I do not enjoy making love to women.”

Megan blinked, furrowing her brow in confusion. “To clarify: Are you implying you’re gay?”

Loki, who had flushed and looked away the moment he finished spilling his secret, replied with an equally confused tone. “Gay? I am not familiar with that term.”

“It means you enjoy making love to men instead of women.”

“No!” he quickly denied, his normally pale cheeks beginning to flush.

“L, there’s nothing wrong with being gay. It’s _okay_ if you’re gay.”

The trickster growled. “You have the entirely wrong idea. I agree that there is nothing wrong with a man enjoying the… company of his fellow man. I admit that, from my culture’s perspective, it is strange for two men to have sex, though I’m not even sure how two men can even _do_ that. And _no_ ,” he hastily added as Megan began to grin, “I do _not_ wish for an explanation. The logistics of coitus are irrelevant; what I am trying to convey is that Asgardians would not view such a bond unfavorably.”

Steeling himself, Loki concluded, “The point I am making is that I am _not_ gay, as I prefer the company of women… and _only_ their company.”

“ _Oh_. Oh, I get it!” she said, comprehension dawning on her. “You’re saying you’re _asexual_!” At his confused look, she amended, “Err, to clarify: Asexual means you don’t like having sex with people, but you still form relationships.”

For the second time that conversation, his jaw dropped. “Midgardians have a _term_ for it?”

“Of course we do. I mean, being asexual isn’t extraordinarily common, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a word that clearly expresses that core concept. I mean, imagine how much smoother that reveal of yours would have gone had you known the term ‘asexual?’”

 _Yes, that_ would _have been simpler,_ he begrudgingly admitted to himself. Resolving to ponder the matter of Midgardian linguistics at a more opportune time, he returned his attention to more imminently important matters. “Then you do not think me strange for being… ‘asexual?’”

“No. Why would I?” she asked questioningly. “Is it a stigma in Asgard or something?”

“As I have said before, Asgardian culture is preoccupied with procreation. Since I am attracted to women, it is considered very strange that I am not likewise interested in procreating with them. It is often the case that my aversion to intercourse is reason enough to end a relationship.”

She winced. _Meaning he’s been unable to maintain a healthy relationship with just about anyone. I can imagine what that feels like… I seriously lucked out with Bruce._ “Well even if I hadn’t made my oath, I wouldn’t care. You are who you are. I don’t care if you’re straight, gay, bisexual, pansexual, into BDSM, or anything like that.”

The trickster quirked an eyebrow at the rush of unfamiliar terminology. _She just defined ‘gay,’ but the rest… Well, let’s start with the last one._ “What is BDSM?”

Megan’s cheeks abruptly resembled the color of a tomato as the image of a leather clad Loki striking her naked back with a cat o’ nine tails popped into her head. _No. No no no, Meg! Why are you imagining this right now? With Loki, of all people?! _“Nothing!” she said aloud in a tone that reaffirmed her utter mortification on the off chance her incredibly heated blush hadn’t made it apparent already. “We’re not going there!” She abruptly grabbed his hand and began dragging him down the street towards the Triskelion, which loomed over them from not too far away. “C’mon, we really need to get back to work!”

Befuddled by her behavior, he simply filed the question away for another time and matched her pace as he freed his hand from her grasp. Before long, however, she stopped in front of an electronics store with televisions in the window, her wide eyes focused on the emergency news report and the still image in the corner of the screen featuring none other than the Mandarin:

“—redit for the attack this afternoon in our nation’s capital. Although the authorities have not released a confirmed death toll yet, our sources at the scene say the bomb did result in at least one death: Claire Woods, a local woman who was jogging by the building at the time of detonation. For those just now joining us, the terrorist known only as the Mandarin has made another attack — this time in the heart of Washington, D.C. We’re still wait—”

“Tempest? Is there a problem?” Loki softly asked, not wanting to draw the attention of anyone in the small crowd that was growing around the store’s window.

“He just took credit for that guy who blew up, L,” she replied, matching his volume. “Why would he do that? That’s not his M.O., unless…” She trailed off, her eyes growing wide. _That guy I fought had clearly been injected with Extremis, and he exploded after I killed him… Is that what all of the Mandarin attacks have been? Cover ups for Extremis users blowing up? But that would mean the Mandarin is a front for A.I.M.… Or maybe they’re a front for him? That seems unlikely, but then again, so was him declaring the explosion was one of his attacks._ She shook her head as she said aloud, “That guy is a terrorist, and it seems he’s somehow tied to A.I.M. We’re finding more questions than we are answers, and I don’t like that.”

She turned on her heel and began striding toward the Triskelion once more. “Let’s see if we can’t change that…”

* * *

**Thursday, December 29th, 2005 @ 10:22p, GMT | Pennyworth Electronics, East End of London, Great Britain**

“Do you need any help before I head out?” Andrew Pennyworth asked as he locked his office, eyeing the young man restocking the shelves.

“No, sir,” Danny Weitzel replied, briefly flashing a smile over his shoulder at his elderly boss. “There’s only a few more things in the back that need to be put out. I’ll be done in five minutes or so.”

“Of course, of course,” he acknowledged before crossing the small store and opening the front door. A biting December gust whooshed into the store, musing Andrew’s wispy gray hair before he plopped a worn fedora over it. “Don’t forget to lock up when you’re done,” he said, holding his hat in place. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, he slipped out the door, letting it clang shut.

The young blonde resumed his work, an undecipherable look on his face. Although he considered himself lucky for managing to secure his present job, especially given his need for under-the-table payment, he nevertheless tempered that by remembering how incredibly _unlucky_ it had been to be forced into this situation. It wasn’t every day, after all, that one went to sleep in their bedroom in New York City and woke up in one of London’s alleys. His mysterious transportation had been so seamless that he had honestly believed he was having a lucid dream for most of that first day. When night arrived, however, the cold reality of the situation had settled in.

Once he had arrived at that particular realization, he had immediately done everything in his power to contact the folks back home. He had tried contacting Megan, Bruce, Pepper, Rhodey, Jarvis, and even Clint, and only one person answered.

* * *

_“Megan Stark speaking. Who is this? How did you get my private number?”_

_“Meg! It’s Danny!” he said, his growing panic making him rush through his words. “I don’t know what the hell happened, but I woke up this morning in_ London _of all places. Are you okay? Where are you? Did something happen?”_

 _There was a pause at the end of the line, followed by a soft sigh that he barely heard. “You’re a smart kid, Danny. What do you_ think _happened?”_

_He blinked at her cold tone. “W-w-what? I don’t… Meg, please… I don’t understand! If you know, then just tell me?”_

_“It was a mistake. It was a mistake ever bringing you here, and I’ve fixed it.”_

_“M-Meg?” His breath was hitching, and a cold weight was settling down on him, like a slab of ice slowly crushing him. “W-what are you saying?”_

_“The streets here wouldn’t do,” she continued, her tone sounding strained. “You could cause legitimate problems for me here. Putting you in London… Nothing’s changed, really. You’re essentially in the same position you were the day I met you.”_

_“No… No! You’re lying! This is a joke! It’s just a sick joke!” He sobbed, unable to hold back the terror that was rapidly beginning to consume him. “It’s not funny, Meg! Please stop it!”_

_The last thing he heard before she hung up was, “Don’t call me again.”_

* * *

Danny blinked, suddenly realizing that was standing in the middle of the store and had gotten lost in the memory. Wiping at the tears in his eyes, he bitterly said aloud to no one in particular, “I should’ve known better than to believe her.” He resumed his walk towards the storeroom. “Who would want me to be their little brother?”

He reached the door, griped the doorknob, and tried to turn it. It was locked.

A loud clang behind him made him whirl around in panic. The metal gate that covered the front of the store at closing time had dropped, blocking all sight between the exterior and interior of the store.

“What the hell…” He made to move towards the door and figure out why that had happened, but he froze when someone he had hoped to never see again phased through the solid metal gate and the door, casually stepping into the shop’s interior. “You!”

“Ah, I’m so pleased you remember me,” the Ghost answered, his white, full-body armor gleaming in the store’s incandescent lighting. “That is one less thing we must discuss tonight.”

The blonde backed into the locked door, putting as much distance between them as possible for all the good it did. His boss’ office and the storeroom were locked, and even if they weren’t, the sole exit was the front door. He was trapped. “What do you want from me?”

“Use your ears, son,” the distorted voice quipped. “I have already told you what I want from you: A conversation.”

“Ah,” Danny replied with blatant incredulity. “I… see. You, um, want to discuss something then?”

“Oh good. You were listening after all. Tell me, son, what you think of Megan Stark.”

“I hate her,” he replied without hesitation, wishing desperately he could convince himself to look away from the cold, mechanical eyes of the Ghost’s helmet. _Where is he going with this?_

“Why do you hate her?”

“She abandoned me here,” he said, keeping his answer short, wanting their conversation to be over as soon as possible.

“And if you were to learn that you had _not_ been abandoned? That the ‘Megan Stark’ who returned to NYC on July 14th earlier this year was, in fact, an _imposter_?”

_“Hey, sis,” Danny called out over the top of his seemingly ever present laptop, his pale eyes seeking out her sky blue ones as she entered the dining area. “Interesting improvisation at the committee hearing. I can’t argue with the results, but I don’t recall ‘force a meeting with the President’ being a part of the plan you mentioned the other day.”_

“No way…” the teen murmured.

_“Well that was odd,” Bruce replied quietly before swinging his head to face forward once more, a baffled expression still in place. Seeing the teen’s curiosity, he explained, “She said she was lost in thought, but her eyes didn’t glaze over. I’ve never seen that happen before — or not happen, rather.”_

“That’s simply not possible…”

_“Well, I certainly can’t deny that meeting with the President is more likely to occur, and thus buy you time, than your plan to resort to a court of appeals,” the neon-green eyed brunette said with a frown, his shoulder currently covered in a mess of black and red hair. “But a couple of things threw me for a loop. First, you jumped right to ‘buy time’ plan after a perfunctory attempt to convince the committee that you holding onto he suit wasn’t a problem. Second, Fury will be… well, furious when he hears about this, since you’ve told the world at large that you plan to continue using the suit, which you said you wouldn’t do. And last, going through meeting the President will get you closer to the military than you ought to, given your relationship with me and that they’re actively trying to get their hands on your suit.”_

“You have seen Bruce Banner transform into the Hulk, a portal to another dimension open over the skies of Manhattan, and me phasing through solid walls. So is it not _possible_ that the ‘Megan Stark’ who abandoned you here was not the real one?”

“Proof,” Danny abruptly said. “What proof do you have of this?”

“Excellent,” the Ghost replied with a laugh, the voice modulator making it ominous. “Always question what you ‘know,’ son. That is the secret to success in life.”

“Why do you keep calling me that? Calling me ‘son?’”

“Your question, first: I know because I have a skill set that assists me in learning what people do not want me to know. More specifically, what ‘Advanced Idea Mechanics’ did not wish for me to know.”

“So I have to take you at your word? That’s not very convincing, given who you are.”

“‘Who I am,’ is _precisely_ why you should believe me.” Before Danny could retort, a small slot on the Ghost’s armored left thigh snapped open. Reaching into the cavity, the figure pulled out, of all things, a 3x5 photo. “Do you know the people in this photograph?” he finished, holding it out upside down for the blonde to take.

It took the teen several minutes to work up the courage to warily reach out and grab the proffered item. Once he had withdrawn his hand and cast one last suspicious look at the armored figure before him, he glanced down at the photo. On the back, feminine handwriting said, “Christmas 2000.” He flipped it over. A smiling family of three casually dressed, raven-haired individuals greeted him. The person on left was easily the tallest of the three, and he was the only man. His smile bore a certain roguish quality, his dark brown eyes held a sharpness common in bright individuals, and his neatly trimmed and styled black hair, both on top of his head and on his face, was clearly beginning to gray. His left arm was wrapped around the backs of the two women, his hand resting on the hip of the one farthest from him, and his right hand was firmly placed on the right shoulder of the young woman in the middle. On the right was a woman with sky blue eyes that spoke of wisdom — of a wealth of experience gained through many years lived. But for those eyes, he would never have guessed her as older than her late thirties. She had clearly aged _very_ well. Her long, shiny, straight black hair was pulled into a low, side ponytail that lightly draped forward over her left shoulder. Like the man in the photo, she had an arm around the back of the family and a hand on the left shoulder of the young woman in the middle.

The young woman in the middle was an unmistakable face for Danny, even though she was clearly several years younger than her present age. “Yes. I know them.”

“Who are they?”

“The Stark family. From left to right, Howard, Megan, and Maria.”

“Good. Now, you asked why I have been calling you ‘son.’ You asked why you should take me at my word, and I replied that who I am is why you should trust me,” the Ghost said. “Let me show you why.” A sudden, light whirring sound brought the teen’s attention back to the Ghost, who was removing the full-face helmet of his white armor.

When it came off, Danny gasped, dropping the photo as his grip became slack. “That’s impossible. You’re dead.” His — or rather, _her_ — appearance had changed since the photo was taken: The long black hair was gone, replaced with a short, haphazard cut only someone who cuts their own hair would have. The once lustrous, pure black hair was now somewhat grimy and had streaks of white intermixed with the black strands.

“Megan was adopted, as you know. So really, I have no qualms with viewing you, the boy she calls her ‘little brother,’ as my son.” Maria Stark smiled. “Welcome to the family, Daniel.”


	5. Don't Waver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Incorruptible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit. 
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book — they're going to happen. You’ve been warned.

_“‘Who I am,’ is_ precisely _why you should believe me.” Before Danny could retort, a small slot on the Ghost’s armored left thigh snapped open. Reaching into the cavity, the figure pulled out, of all things, a 3x5 photo. “Do you know the people in this photograph?” he finished, holding it out upside down for the blonde to take._

 _It took the teen several minutes to work up the courage to warily reach out and grab the proffered item. Once he had withdrawn his hand and cast one last suspicious look at the armored figure before him, he glanced down at the photo. On the back, feminine handwriting said, “Christmas 2000.” He flipped it over. A smiling family of three casually dressed, raven-haired individuals greeted him. The person on left was easily the tallest of the three, and he was the only man. His smile bore a certain roguish quality, his dark brown eyes held a sharpness common in bright individuals, and his neatly trimmed and styled black hair, both on top of his head and on his face, was clearly beginning to gray. His left arm was wrapped around the backs of the two women, his hand resting on the hip of the one farthest from him, and his right hand was firmly placed on the right shoulder of the young woman in the middle. On the right was a woman with sky blue eyes that spoke of wisdom — of a wealth of experience gained through many years lived. But for those eyes, he would never have guessed her as older than her late thirties. She had clearly aged_ very _well. Her long, shiny, straight black hair was pulled into a low, side ponytail that lightly draped forward over her left shoulder. Like the man in the photo, she had an arm around the back of the family and a hand on the left shoulder of the young woman in the middle._

_The young woman in the middle was an unmistakable face for Danny, even though she was clearly several years younger than her present age. “Yes. I know them.”_

_“Who are they?”_

_“The Stark family. From left to right, Howard, Megan, and Maria.”_

_“Good. Now, you asked why I have been calling you ‘son.’ You asked why you should take me at my word, and I replied that who I am is why you should trust me,” the Ghost said. “Let me show you why.” A sudden, light whirring sound brought the teen’s attention back to the Ghost, who was removing the full-face helmet of his white armor._

_When it came off, Danny gasped, dropping the photo as his grip became slack. “That’s impossible. You’re dead.” His — or rather, her — appearance had changed since the photo was taken: The long black hair was gone, replaced with a short, haphazard cut only someone who cuts their own hair would have. The once lustrous, pure black hair was now somewhat grimy and had streaks of white intermixed with the black strands._

_“Megan was adopted, as you know. So really, I have no qualms with viewing you, the boy she calls her ‘little brother,’ as my son.” Maria Stark smiled. “Welcome to the family, Daniel.”_

* * *

**Incorruptible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Chapter Five: Don’t Waver_

“More than ever, hour after

Our work is never over.”

Daft Punk, _Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger_

* * *

**Thursday, December 29th, 2005 @ 12:42p, EST | The Triskelion**

“Technical Support,” the prim female voice of the Triskelion’s elevator announced as the exterior elevator smoothly slid to a stop, the metal halves of the door opening like the sideways, metallic teeth of a monster preparing to consume a meal. A fitting image, at least in Megan’s mind, since even the barest mistake in her and Loki’s infiltration would almost certainly result in a decidedly bad outcome for their journey into the heart of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s lair.

 _Fucking finally,_ the petite genius griped internally as she gestured at her raven-haired companion. Moving carefully, they followed at the heels of the middle-aged man who had chosen this destination as he swiftly strode through the now open doors. Once Megan confirmed the trickster had also managed to get out of the elevator before its doors slid closed, she breathed a sigh of relief. Although his skill with casting and maintaining illusions was naturally pivotal to her plan to sneak into the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters during broad daylight, it nevertheless had its flaws.

Simple invisibility and sound muffling would have done the two mana-users little good against someone bumping into them on one of the elevators, which were spacious but not so much so that two person-sized, invisible objects would be missed. This was true of anywhere, but _especially_ the headquarters of the world’s foremost spy agency. Fortunately, Loki was a true master of illusion, and he had the power to work around such limitations. Invisibility and muffling were nothing compared with being spelled to be _unnoticeable_ — to be in plain sight but have the enemy’s eyes slide past you as though you were invisible, to be touched but have the sensation never reach the enemy’s mind, to be heard but deemed inconsequential background noise by the enemy’s ears. Such was within the grasp of those casters belonging to the bailiwick of illusions.

Unfortunately, there were two kinks involved in using such magic. First, spelling something unnoticeable was a _costly_ drain on mana, and that neither accounted for the necessity of maintaining two such spells nor the length of time Megan and Loki had to wait in the elevator. Second…

* * *

 _“Wait,” Megan muttered in disbelief, “so after all your harping about ‘the four limitations’ of mana-use, you’re only_ now _getting around to tell me about this?”_

 _The raven-haired trickster sighed, wearily running his hand over his face. “Must I repeat myself, Tem? I did that because I too was initially taught that way. It is_ simpler _for a beginner to approach spellcasting from the perspective of four specific laws rather than one, rather vague law.”_

_“Still, why couldn’t you have told me the four laws basically meant ‘All mana-use is a function of willpower’ at the same time? It probably would have expedited the process.”_

_“No, it very likely would not have. Do you not remember your struggles in the nation of ‘Tennessee?’ Even though you_ should _have kept the four specific laws in mind when you tried to access your wind affinity, you didn’t. You tried to skirt around them, forcing your mana to bend to your will._ True willpower _is more than just blindly applying yourself to a problem; it is applying yourself_ correctly _to a problem. The four laws I told you are designed to help you understand how to correctly apply your willpower to casting._

_“The first law reminds you that you have limits to how long you can apply yourself. The second law reminds you that like any other skill, mana-use becomes easier with practice. The third law reminds you that you can only will into existence what you can fathom. And the fourth law reminds you that the innate parts of your psyche shape your mana in ways you cannot change and that full acceptance and understanding of your psyche will allow you to apply yourself for as long as possible. Every time you cast a spell, you are using your willpower to reshape reality. If you do not understand your own willpower at the levels the four laws enumerate, then you fighting yourself more than you are fighting the present state of reality.”_

* * *

… their every action made the drain greater. And when the spell was already a titanic task, that wasn’t a luxury they could afford.

The nature of something unnoticeable exists in inherent opposition to being noticed. This truth of reality was what Loki’s spell had to combat, what his willpower had to bend to his will. Whenever someone spelled unnoticeable did something noticeable, reality fought back. Every noticeable action — breathing, moving, talking — added weight to the side of the magical equation dedicated to reality, so in order to keep the spell tilted in the caster’s favor (or at the very least balanced), more willpower would need to be exerted.

With this lesson fresh in her mind, Megan had needed a plan that involved the least actions that were noticeable. Accordingly, walking into the Triskelion’s elevator and directing it to a floor was right out; doubly so, given that she wasn’t _that_ familiar with the building’s layout and would have needed to guess floors until they found one with a computer in a location suitable for her to hack. Taking the stairs would have been a solid option, since traversing them wouldn’t have required being truly unnoticeable, but again, she didn’t know exactly which floor they needed to go to. They would have needed to check every floor until they found one with a suitable location for hacking, and for all she knew, the first forty floors might very well have been tightly packed cubicles with nowhere she could safely hack.

The plan was therefore kept as simple yet efficacious as possible: While invisible and muffled, walk into the lobby and over to an elevator; then, while unnoticeable, move into the elevator and wait for it to go to the right floor; once at the right floor, they could revert to simple invisibility and sound muffling. The question of which floor was ‘the right floor’ had been a tricky one and was the reason they had needed to wait in the elevator for over a half an hour. They couldn’t merely decide that a given floor sounded good and go check it. That entailed a great deal of movement and would have evaporated Loki’s mana in minutes with no guarantee the floor would be the ‘right one.’ Waiting in the elevator, hearing as many options as possible before selecting, remaining as still as possible while doing so… That was the plan she selected, as it had the greatest likelihood of minimizing the toll on her partner’s willpower.

 _I still stand by my decision that waiting in the elevator was the best course of action, but fuck, I’ve never realized how taxing it can be doing_ literally nothing _,_ she groused.

As she watched the man they followed march up to the desk of a staff member and begin chatting with her about something regarding spam filters, she felt the air around her shift as she and Loki left their heightened state of illusion for the more mundane one required by her plan at this stage. Knowing her raven-haired partner in crime (for what they were doing was, in fact, a crime) was following her, she carefully but quickly stalked past the desks occupied by technicians until she found it: An employee’s personal laptop, sitting at an unoccupied desk.

 _Excellent!_ She gave her companion a minute gesture, which his sharp gaze noticed immediately. Without a word, Loki called up the last dregs of his mana and cast a variant of the unnoticeable spell he had covered them with earlier: He made the desk area, roughly a two cubic meter square of space, visually uninteresting. The unnoticeable enchantment made onlookers, among other things, unable to see the target in such a way that their eyes literally would slip past it. Something visually uninteresting was that and _only_ that.

Their visibility now covered by the new spell, the trickster retracted his focus from maintaining their unnecessary invisibility as she began her own task: Breaking into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s secure mainframe. He grimaced as he felt the pull on his mana, his vision becoming hazy for a moment before he grounded himself. “Two minutes. The ‘elevator’ nearly drained me dry,” he said, slowly and carefully pronouncing the recently learned term.

Megan scowled at that but said nothing. He had done everything he could, and she had to respect that. _Stay focused,_ she reminded herself as she used the portable computer to do her dirty work. She had two tasks: First, she needed to determine what, if anything, S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about A.I.M., especially the location of Aldrich Killian. Second, she needed to scour what S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about her — or rather her doppelgänger’s — actions and location.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she found the answer to her first and second questions simultaneously: Agent Jasper Sitwell was on full-time shadowing duty for Aldrich, and Agent Brock Rumlow was doing the same for her doppelgänger. Both agents’ reports referenced each other due to the very public partnership between them, so the moment she located Sitwell’s reports, she inherently found Rumlow’s.   _Wow, Sitwell’s in deep…_ she noted as she glanced over the tremendous level of detail in his reports. She memorized Aldrich’s schedule, nothing that although it was flexible, it had him normally at the Miami A.I.M. site Tuesdays through Fridays and at Stark Tower on weekends and Mondays. With that done, she opened up the reports on her double.

A low growl resonated in the back of her throat, drawing her companion’s attention, but she was too focused on the atrocity before her to care overly much. _They made a backdoor into my servers?! Motherfuckers! I’ll kill them!_ Nobody _fucks with me like this!_

The cold, light touch of Loki carefully laying a hand on her shoulder brought her crashing back into reality. “One minute left.”

“Of course,” she agreed, taking a brief moment to steady herself by breathing in deeply and exhaling through her nose, then she returned her focus to the laptop. She quickly located her doppelgänger’s schedule, which was essentially the same as her own had been: Flexible for tasks that required travel, but otherwise, her time was spent almost entirely at Stark Tower and — on weekends and Mondays — with none other than Aldrich Killian. _So they should both be at the Tower for three days beginning the day after tomorrow. Excellent!_

Moving on, Megan decided that although it made her feel unclean using the backdoor S.H.I.E.L.D. had installed into her personal servers, she had limited time left to search for any other information that may be valuable, and the backdoor provided an easy avenue to verifying what exactly had been happening at Stark Industries. She controlled herself well enough that she didn’t outwardly express her frustration for the first time in a while, but she was _livid_ when she saw the data unfold before her eyes. A.I.M. hadn’t just weaseled their way into Stark Industries — they had _gutted_ it. The company’s assets had almost entirely been stripped away, a veritable exodus of employees were leaving the failing company, and profits were at a historical low, even _without_ accounting for inflation. The board of directors had done nothing to stop the imminent death of the company her father built, but in all fairness, they had probably succumbed to the same fate that had claimed Happy and, she assumed, most of her family and friends.

What she saw next, however, caused her eyebrows to knit together in confusion. It appeared the assets hadn’t been absorbed into A.I.M. but rather _S.H.I.E.L.D._

 _At this point, Stark Industries’ bankruptcy is unavoidable unless I can gain access to my personal accounts and directly inject the company with some much needed lifeblood…_ she noted before killing the connection to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database and swiftly restoring the laptop to the state she had found it. Her time was up, and she knew it. She would have to look into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s backstabbing actions at another time. “Let’s get out of here. I saw a stairwell down that hallway by the elevator.”

 _Her timing is superb,_ Loki thought to himself as he restored their invisibility before retracting the localized enchantment he had erected. _I’ve got enough mana to get us out of the building, but that’s it. If she hadn’t crafted the plan to minimize the drain on my mana, we would be in trouble._

* * *

**Thursday, January 1st, 2004 @ 07:06p, EST | Miami, Florida**

“Hey Hansen,” Eric Savin called out as he descended into what he and his fellow A.I.M. employees referred to as her ‘dungeon’ — a fitting name, given her lab’s location in the basement, its low level of lighting, and the long hours she spent in it. “Special delivery.”

Honey brown eyes glanced up from her computer as Maya took another sip from her mug of black tea. “Huh?” she eloquently replied in confusion.

“You heard me,” the veteran quipped as he reached the bottom step, moving carefully so he didn’t drop the long, heavy container. “Straight from the boss himself.”

She hummed thoughtfully as he deposited the nondescript package on a nearby empty table. “Did he say what it was?”

“Nope. But…” He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a sealed, slightly crumpled envelope bearing the words ‘Read this first’ in Aldrich’s scrawl. “He did send this, so maybe it’s in there.” Setting it atop the package, the vet turned on his heel and made his way back towards the stairs. “Have fun with whatever the hell that thing is. I’ve got shit to do, so I’m outta here.”

Her eyes trailed him as he climbed the stairs and, once he’d turned the corner and moved out of her line of sight, she focused on the box and letter once more. “Well, no time like the present,” she murmured as she set her mug aside, stood from her chair, and moved over to the table where the two objects awaited her. She honestly had no idea what to expect, and she blushed faintly as traitorous thoughts entered her mind.

 _What if he sent you a_ present, _hm?_

_No! Don’t be ridiculous! How could he know that I… Err…_

_That you think of him whenever you pleasure yourself?_

_I don’t know what you’re talking about!_

_Now who’s being ridiculous? I’m_ you _, you idiot. You know what I know, and what_ I _know is he’s got a steaming hot bod, a smile that makes our heart melt, and that he’s been warming up to us a lot lately and is starting to treat us as more than a colleague._

_Err… That is to say… The, uh, heat’s due to Extremis still not being fixed?_

_You’re impossible. Fucking impossible, you know that? Now open up the goddamn love letter already._

_It’s not a love letter!_ Maya fiercely thought, concluding the brief wrestling match between her sense of professional duty to her boss and her intense desire to jump said boss’ bones. She tersely snatched up the envelope, miffed with her growing inability to keep her steamier thoughts in check, and ripped it open. Unfolding the sheet of paper within, she read:

[Maya,

I’m sure you heard about the disaster that happened in NYC last night. What you might not have known is that Megan Stark injured her left leg during the debacle, and when she was taken to the hospital, they had to amputate it. Yes, you read that right — they amputated it. Don’t ask how I heard about this or how I got it (You _don’t_ want to know). The point is, I knew that we were looking at a truly unique opportunity, so I pulled a lot of strings and arranged for the leg to be sent to us instead of being properly disposed of. It’s in an insulated cooler inside the package; have fun with your experiments.

Happy New Year,

Aldrich]

Maya’s hands had begun trembling part way through the brief letter, and she’d been forced to set it down on the table in order to read it. Adrenaline coursed through the brunette’s veins as her honey brown eyes flicked up from the letter to lock onto the package — the nondescript box that contained _Megan Stark’s severed leg_.

 _Good heavens, Aldrich… You’re right. I_ don’t _want to know how the fuck you got your hands on this! I’m no expert on hospital procedures, but I’m fairly confident they don’t freely give out amputated limbs to whomever asks for it nicely enough first…_

Slowly, as if she expected the leg to fly out of the container and begin assaulting her, her still trembling hands deposited the letter on the table and reached out towards the box. Steeling herself, she grabbed it and slid it towards her, grunting with effort due to its weight. Once it was before her, her eyes took note of how it was sealed: One simple piece of packaging tape kept the top securely closed. Scissors or knives weren’t required in her line of work, but she did have pens, and such a seal could be broken easily enough by one.

She reluctantly turned from the desk, briefly returned to her desk, grabbed a pen, and then hastily scrambled back over to the desk where the rather nondescript box still sat. Clicking the end of the pen to bring out the tip, she jabbed it into the tape, quickly cutting it out of the way. When that was done, she clicked the pen once more, tossed it aside carelessly, and pulled open the box’s flaps. Inside the box was the insulated cooler Aldrich had mentioned in his letter. Knowing the slim, white, rectangular cooler was the reason the box had been so heavy, she gripped two sides of the box near where they formed a corner and tore the box apart along the corner. Repeating this for the remaining three corners and leaving the box’s sides lying flat on the table, she returned her attention to the cooler itself.

Maya took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled through her mouth as she studied the simple lock holding the container shut. It was just a simple key lock — nothing spectacular — yet she didn’t have the key. Huffing in frustration, she glanced over the desk, double checking whether she had missed the key. Not seeing a key from her position, she leaned forward over the metal table and glanced behind the cooler.

 _There!_ she thought with a smile as she snatched up the key that had been dropped into the box along with the cooler.

Returning to her fully upright position, she slipped the key into the lock, savoring the feel of each tumbler the key slide by. Once it was fully in the slot, she experimentally twisted the key to the right and grinned somewhat maniacally when the lock popped open with a satisfying click. With a reverent expression now firmly fixed on her face, she grasped the sides of the cooler’s lid and carefully opened it, a hiss filling the air as the cold interior met the much warmer room temperature of her Miami lab.

 _He really did it…_ she thought to herself in wonder as her honey brown eyes locked on to the slightly discolored limb lying within the cooler. _He_ really _got his hands on this…_

The vast majority of Maya’s experiments with Extremis were tested on plants, so she didn’t keep medical gloves on hand. The moment her eyes landed on the leg, however, she knew that she didn’t really give a shit about proper hygiene at the moment.

 _It’s not like contamination will adversely affect the Extremis injection, after all,_ she reasoned to herself as she reached into the cooler, wrapped her _still_ trembling hands around the limb, and carefully slipped it out. The chilled fleshy felt unnatural, like it was an extremely realistic model, but even without Aldrich’s letter, she knew it was real. If asked how she knew, she never could have explained what she was feeling, but somehow, she just _knew_ she was holding the severed leg of Megan Stark — the severed leg of the young genius without whom Extremis likely would have been nothing more than a fevered dream — the severed leg of the young woman who had inspired Maya three years ago, filling her with the urge to better herself as a scientist.

 _Are you really going to do this, Maya?_ she asked herself. _What you’re thinking of doing is… unethical, taboo,_ immoral _… You’ve never experimented with injecting Extremis into the severed limb itself — only the body it was severed from. Without a mind connected to the nerves, there’s no telling what will happen!_ She paused at that, giving the matter at least a quick review before proclaiming aloud to no one in particular, “Fuck it.”

Adrenaline pumped into her, surging through her veins like a flood unleashed by a burst dam as she placed the limb on the flopped open box and scrambled over to her desk where a fresh batch of Extremis waited. The syringe was in her hand, her body turning on her heel before she consciously commanded her body to act. A moment later, she was once again beside the table, and her left hand held the syringe and hovered in the air as her right hand steadied the limb.

Her honey brown eyes flashed, the maniacal gleam that had filled them earlier somehow growing even wilder as she brought carefully slid the syringe into the damaged flesh of Megan Stark’s severed leg and depressed the plunger, forcing the bright red liquid into it.

She watched the red serum pulse through the leg despite the flesh being dead and waited in giddy anticipation for the serum to take hold.

She waited.

And waited.

And _waited_.

Fifteen minutes later, a full fourteen and a half minutes longer than the longest delayed initial reaction she had ever recorded, she released a furious scream of frustration and slammed her balled up fists on the metal table, causing a metallic clang to reverberate throughout her lab for what felt to her like hours.

Nothing had happened.

* * *

**Thursday, December 29th, 2005 @ 01:51p, EST | Washington, D.C., Foggy Bottom Metro Station**

Megan eyed the tablet sticking haphazardly out of the backpack resting on the bench between her and the tablet’s immaculately dressed owner, a man arguing over business with a woman sitting on his other side. Keeping her eye on the device, she fingered her own, half-open backpack as she carefully reached out with her senses, briefly enjoying the feeling of all the electricity thrumming around her before she focused on the ceiling lights and signs hanging on both sides of the station. The next metro train slid into the station, and when its doors slid open and people began to pour out, she silently began counting down. _Three, two, one._

Needless to say, when all the ceiling lights and signs in the station exploded violently, showering the crowds below with glass and shrouding them with darkness, panic ensued. The people broke into a mixture of gasps, shouts, and a handful of isolated screams. Megan, however, had used the tumult to deftly and quickly snatch the tablet free from its owner’s bag, slip it into her own, and hastily escape the area. Her eyes lightly glowed an electric blue as she filled them with mana, enhancing her eyes’ night vision enough to allow her to expertly make her way through the crowd and up the steps leading out of the metro station.

Loki, who had been idly leaning against the wall next to the stairwell, pulled himself up to his full height as she approached and fell into step beside her as they climbed the stairs. “Your control is improving,” he noted. “I half expected you to damage the device you sought as well as the lights.”

Her lips curled into a light smile and her glowing eyes faded into their typical sky blue before she replied, “To be honest, I suspected I might as well. And wouldn’t that have been annoying, after all that effort to find the right target?” It was true. It had taken over an hour to find someone who was using a tablet or phone without password protection and had then stored it in an easily stolen manner.

“Indeed,” he answered as they reached the street. “Do you have everything you need then?”

“Almost,” she said before snatching his hand and lightly pulling him towards the nearby Five Guys restaurant with a grin. “I just need some Wi-Fi.” He opened his mouth to ask what ‘Wi-Fi’ was, but having already anticipated his question, she added, “It’s a special signal that will connect this tablet to what I need to communicate with. It’s kind of like an invisible Bifrost that transports information from one place to another.”

That explanation drew a look of surprise from Loki, but he remained silent. At this point he was frankly used to being shocked by what Midgardians could do without mana. The pair entered the busy restaurant, and Megan snatched up a handful of peanuts before sliding into a seat at one of the few remaining open tables. Loki watched her with a raised eyebrow as she cracked one open and popped it into her mouth, but again, he said nothing as she quickly set about her work.

In short order, she had accessed the Wi-Fi, connected to the same backup server she had accessed a few hours earlier that day, and had typed out, [Jarvis, isolate a copy of the OS currently being used at Stark Industries using a sandbox on the emergency backup server. When that’s done, revert the Stark Industries Jarvis to your current OS. Do your best to ensure nobody notices.]

Less than a minute later, the uncorrupted Jarvis’ response appeared on screen. [Done, ma’am. No alarms have been raised, and nobody has noticed, that I can detect.]

“Excellent,” she breathed out in relief as she cracked open another peanut and popped its contents into her mouth. Even though there had been a slight chance that her actions would be noticed, the danger of allowing the main servers’ Jarvis to remain corrupted had been too great for her to not rectify the situation as soon as possible. Her companion gave her a questioning look, but she didn’t notice, as her fingers had already begun to dance across the on-screen keyboard. [Use the OS in the sandbox to judge how you should respond to anything you’re asked by anyone other than me.] Belatedly noticing that the tablet had a SIM card, she added, [And create a dedicated connection to this tablet through the Stark Industries satellite.]

[Done,] the AI confirmed a second later.

She immediately stood, abandoning the nuts on the table as she moved to exit the restaurant, and her trickster partner also stood and followed in her wake, wearily accepting that she would give an explanation for her actions in due time.

[Begin searching the logs for anything that indicates who is using Extremis to impersonate somebody,] she typed while carefully dodging around the building’s patrons and exiting through the door. [Prioritize providing the following people’s status: Bruce Banner, Danny Weitzel, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, and James Rhodes.]

Megan breathed in deeply, doing her best to steel herself for the answers she knew she could never prepare herself for, and lead her companion towards an alley, muttering, “Let’s go somewhere more private.” Loki nodded in assent, and together, they slipped into the alley, checked that no one was looking, and then jumped up to the roof. Once there, she turned to face him and shoved the tablet into the trickster god’s hands, surprising him. “I need you to read this list for me.” When she noticed he was glancing at the rectangular object with a wary look and holding it like it might lash out and bite him at any moment, she added, “ _Please_ , Loki. You know how I reacted to bad news earlier.”

He gave her a Look. “Yes, and I distinctly remember that ending with my head smashed into the roof of a building.” She winced at the reminder, but he continued without acknowledging her. “You understand, I trust, that I am therefore hesitant to be the one who personally delivers bad news?”

“Well, I… I don’t _know_ that I’ll react any better than I did earlier. Hell, maybe I _will_ have a more negative reaction, but…”

He pulled his gaze away from the tablet when she didn’t continue and blanched when he realized she was staring right at him, straight into his pale green eyes with her own beautiful sky blue eyes, silently pleading for him to do as she asked. _Ugh. ‘Beautiful?’ Remaining in her presence for this long at once must be affecting me more than I anticipated…_ He quickly averted his eyes to the side, asking in a strange tone, “But?”

“I dunno,” she said with a sigh, noting he was carefully look at anything but her. “I just… I figured it might help if I heard it from a fr- _partner_.”

She winced again, this time at her slip-up, but was surprised to noticed that Loki barely reacted, merely turning his eyes back to her and giving her an odd, searching look. Eventually, he said, “Fine.” He turned his attention back to the now blank screen of the tablet and asked, “How do I make the list appear again?” His technological difficulty brought a tenuous smile to her lips as she brought it out of sleep, carefully using only her peripheral vision in order to avoid seeing the information first hand. With the screen lit up once again, he scanned over the list. “How would you like me to read this? I can read out specific persons first.”

“Ah…” she murmured, briefly taken aback by the level of concern his last statement had exhibited. _I guess he has a heart after all._ “The… um, the people who haven’t been killed or replaced, however it… it lists them.”

Nodding to himself, he read the requested names, his eyes sharply skimming over the list once more. “Bruce Banner is being held prisoner at an A.I.M. facility in Miami, and Danny Weitzel has been relocated to the streets of London, Great Britain.”

It was a strange feeling, Megan decided, to feel tremendous relief and soul crushing sorrow at the same time — to feel the urge to simultaneously shout for joy and break down into wracking sobs. _Bruce and Danny are safe! Thank heavens! … But then what about…?_ “A-a-and the rest?”

The trickster god tensed in preparation for the coming cataclysmic reaction. “The rest of them have been killed and replaced by A.I.M. agents.”

Her legs began to feel wobbly, so she tightly latched onto his arm as support, the forest green cloth of his attire the only barrier between them touching. Her sky blue eyes flashed electric blue for a moment, giving them a murderous glint, and her voice was empty as she whispered, “I see.”

After a few minutes passed with no further reaction from his ordinarily stormy companion, he slowly began to relax to a more manageable level of tension — the kind that came hand in hand with being who he was and, he supposed, who she was becoming. _It would seem my assistance truly did help._

What he did next was a surprise to both her and himself, but reasons unfathomable to himself, he lifted the arm she wasn’t clutching to like a life line, firmly gripped her chin, and tilted her gaze up to meet his. He then faltered for a moment when he caught sight of how watery her eyes were, which was obvious even though she was presently wearing the silver mask that only the two of them could see, and how an electric blue glow was occasionally flickering to life within her irises before dispersing in short order. _She’s reigning in her desire to lash out,_ he thought to himself, noting that nothing nearby seemed to be reacting to her power like it had earlier that day, _but is it done of her own will or am I the catalyst for this development?_ No answer was readily forthcoming, so he shoved the matter aside in his mind.

“Loki?” she softly murmured, confused by his silence and her voice laced with obvious pain as she internally wrestled with the news he had just delivered to her.

That caused him to falter once more, just as he was about to speak. He wanted to be angry with her, to lash out for making him act this way, but something he hadn’t felt for a long time welled up in him at that moment, dispelling that line of thinking. _This… I don’t understand. Why is she reminding me of Mother? What is this_ madness _?_

Megan began to fidget under the intensity of his gaze and silence. Her eyes were still watery, but the last tell-tale signs of her mana trying to react had finally abated. _What is he thinking? Is he angry? Does he want to say something? Is he going to leave?_ A sense of urgency rose up within her at that thought, her adrenal glands stabilizing her with sorely needed adrenaline. Somewhat renewed, she mustered up the courage to speak once more. “Loki.” His gaze, which had grown somewhat distant since she’d last spoke, became focused once more. Satisfied that she had his attention ( _One would think that_ he’d _be the focused one, given the circumstances, but whatever,_ she thought, faintly amused.), she continued. “What is it?”

Her words proved to be the impetus he’d needed to finally speak. He briefly rubbed his thumb across the cool metal of her mask, savoring the strange feeling that surged up once more at the thought of her willingly using his magic. “You’ve learned of yet more losses, but they are the work of the people you are hunting. At least one of those who lives is the prisoner of yet the same. Do not waver from your path. You can _use_ your pain to strengthen your resolve, to achieve revenge for yourself and the three departed.” Her tight grip on his arm had begun to lessen, and her demeanor had begun to firm up, but he could still see the faint vestiges of doubt in her sky blue eyes.

“You are the Tempest, are you not?” he continued, his voice growing impassioned, his natural charisma fueling his words. “The Storm made manifest? A Power who lost one battle but now returns to secure her ultimate victory?” His pale green irises began to ripple like a lake being rained upon as his own mana reared up within him, calling out to hers in a way he had never felt before. He found it intoxicating but maintained enough focus to add with finality, “If you are indeed the Tempest, then _do not waver_!”

Her visage grew wild but determined as her irises shone with brilliant electric blue light and her body crackled with electricity that he could feel in his bones but seemed to affect nothing nearby. “I won’t,” she whispered, her words clear as a bell despite their quietness. “Before I’m finished with them, they’ll rue the day they crossed me and mine.”

Loki gave her a toothy, somewhat feral smile. “ _Yes_. There is the woman I chose to partner with.”

“Sorry to make you wait,” she said, her lips twisting into a vicious smirk of her own that looked right at home with her counterpart’s visage.

He took a step back to put a small distance between them then held out his right hand with his palm open and facing up in clear invitation, his expression daring and his eyes glittering with mischief and something else she just couldn’t place. “Shall we then, my partner?”

She knew there was only one way she could possibly respond. She lifted her right hand without hesitation and gently laid it upon his open palm, and he immediately pressed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles.

She gasped as their mana pools reached out to each other and touched as well. She felt an icy cold chill raced across her flesh, and in her eyes, the air around them seemed to distort ever so slightly — his mana’s frosty and illusory embrace. Her mana likewise enveloped him, causing his skin to crackle and a breeze to blow over him as he felt a terrible heat coursing through his veins. Any discomfort they might have ordinarily felt from the intense temperatures was blocked by the euphoric sensation of their counterpart’s mana racing through them. The moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity, but in truth, he straightened back up to his full height a mere second later, severing the connection and leaving them with only the slightest tingles as reminders of what they just experienced.

Neither of them said a word as she slowly withdrew her hand with an expression that, had she not been wearing a mask, would have very clearly advertised her desire to continue experiencing that feeling. _That was… well, magical,_ she thought to herself, resisting the urge to groan at her own pun. “What was that?” she breathlessly asked aloud, her cheeks flushed with heat.

“That,” he responded in a similar tone, his ordinarily schooled expression thunderstruck, “was… was…” He abruptly collected himself. “It was nothing of import. Shall we resume the task at hand?”

Megan was nonplussed by the sudden change in his demeanor, but his dismissal was obvious, so she’d get nothing more out of him — at least for now. “Okay,” she capitulated begrudgingly, though her thoughts were nevertheless firmly fixated. _Gods, Bruce has_ never _made me feel like that._ Her eyes grew wide in abject horror at her traitorous thoughts. _Megan!_ she viciously lambasted herself. _What the hell?! You just learned that Bruce has been kidnapped, which has some fucking major implications given how utterly impossible that should be, and here you are thinking that someone else —_ Loki _, for that matter —makes you feel better than he does?_

Yet despite her self-admonishment, she couldn’t deny the truth. Bruce had made her feel special, accepted as a female lover for the first time ever, but nothing they had ever done had made her feel so… figuratively and literally empowered. And setting aside the mana aspect, Loki had now initiated two hand-kisses with her, an archaic tradition that implied he viewed her as his equal or greater, and since he was royalty by both adoption and birth, such an action meant the trickster was literally treating her like royalty. R _eally, though, that’s just unfair to Bruce,_ she thought, trying to curb her thoughts from a different angle. _He’s not royalty, so how can he compete with Loki in that way? And this is probably some kind of connection that only mana-users can experience, and it’s not his fault that he i—_

 _But that doesn’t change how you feel,_ a different part of her mind interjected in retort. _Fairness be damned. I mean, just think about how utterly_ amazing _sex would be if th—_

_Shut up, shut up, shut up! Besides, he’s asexual, so he’s obviously not interested in that._

_Okay, fair point. But still, you just watch: When you next see Bruce, you’re going to feel differently about him. I’m you after all, so I should know._

_When I next see him…_ She barely contained the urge to facepalm. _Right. He needs a rescue. I should get on top of that._ She lifted her gaze — which had been firmly fixated on where, moments earlier, he had kissed her hand — and noticed that he was watching her searchingly. _He probably thinks I’ve been considering a plan._ Ideas flashed through her head at rapid pace, her eyes glazing over as she did so. _Well, it simply wouldn’t do to disappoint him._ “Assuming they don’t deviate from their usual schedules, the best time to go after Killian and my double is at Stark Tower the day after tomorrow when they should be there. We’ll have Jarvis — he’s the machine who compiled that list — providing assistance, so we can potentially neutralize a lot of their home field advantage.” Noticing his confused look, she explained, “The advantage they’d ordinarily have as defenders in their own territory.”

Understanding dawned at that. “You’re referring to the defender’s advantage in a siege.”

Megan smiled at that and nodded in confirmation. _I’m actually beginning to like explaining things to him…_ After a moment, she continued outlining her thoughts. “Unfortunately, they may have added security features that they then deleted from the records, in which case Jarvis could only neutralize them _after_ they’re activated. Therefore, if possible, it’d be best if we could arrange for even more assistance.” She snatched the tablet from him, and her fingers began to glide across it in an intricate dance. “I’m arranging some right now that’s not going to cost us anything.”

“And what, pray tell, would that be?”

“You know that metal suit I was using the first two times we met?”

He quirked an eyebrow at that. “Yes, I’m familiar, but wouldn’t you require someone to be _inside_ it? I hardly see how an empty suit of armor will be of help.” After a moment, he hastily amended, “I am warning you now that I will _not_ get inside such a thing.”

“Not to worry,” she answered with a mischievous smirk. “Jarvis will take care of that.”

He gave her an assessing look at that but eventually acquiesced. “This… _Jarvis_ located the people on your list, so that lends credence to the idea of him finding suitable warriors to wear your armor. I trust you have accounted for the potential of traitors to your cause?”

She resisted the urge to laugh — barely. “You misunderstand. Jarvis isn’t finding people to wear the armor. He’ll be _piloting_ the armor — all of it.”

“What in the Nine Realms are y—”

“ _Trust_ _me_. I’ve got it handled. More importantly, there’s one more person who could be great backup, though… likely not as a front line fighter, since we’ll be raiding Stark Tower. More of a ‘in case shit hits the fan’ kind of backup.”

“I’m not going to ask what ‘shit hits the fan’ means. I have the distinct feeling that I do not wish to know. Who is this person?”

She braced herself for what would likely be a bad, to put it lightly, reaction. “Bruce.”

She wasn’t disappointed. “Absolutely _not_.” Loki ground out, disdainfully dismissing her suggestion, somehow resisting the urge to yell at her outright. “I refuse to work with that _beast_.”

“Don’t call him that!” she snarled, her eyes flashing electric blue. “He’s my, my…” She floundered for the right word, ‘partner’ no longer sounding quite appropriate in her mind’s ear, after everything that had happened in the past few days. “My _very good friend_ , and I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk about him like he’s some kind of animal!” Using the term ‘very good friend’ left a bad taste in her mouth, but at the same time, it was the best should could come up with given how in flux her life was at the moment.

“Sentimentality. Look at the situation objectively, and it’s plainly obvious. So long as his transformations aren’t controllable, so long as they occur at the whimsy of his anger, he _is_ no better than an animal!”

“Oh,” Megan answered, her frustration almost entirely evaporating. “Is that all? You realize that I can control him, right?”

 _That_ caught him off guard. “Wait, you can do that?”

“You didn’t know? And here I thought a certain someone ‘did his research,’” she said with a mischievous smirk. “Hulk listens to me, and he can distinguish between friends and enemies. _Yes_ , he’s destructive and really over the top, which makes him an ill-suited first choice for participating in this endeavor, but that’s why I said he’d be good backup in case shit hi— in case we _very badly_ need backup.”

He threw his hands up in frustration. “ _Fine_ ,” he reluctantly acquiesced. “If you _insist_ on the matter, then _you_ will bear the consequences in full. Now let us proceed with getting your revenge, so we can move on to other plans.”

“I figured you already had something in mind for when this is all said and done,” she said, her eyes intent. “Care to share?”

Loki eyed her for a moment before replying, “I do not have enough mana at this moment to ensure absolute privacy for a lengthy explanation, so I shall only impart our objective but no details. Is that sufficient?”

“Of course,” she affirmed, aware that he had limits and that their infiltration of the Triskelion had drained most of his mana.

He took a step towards her and leaned in so his mouth was near her ear. His eyes lightly rippled as he infused his next two words with an illusion of silence and his mouth with the illusion of being still. “My scepter.”

Her eyes widened at the implications, but she merely responded, “Okay. Let’s get to the airport.”

Soon, they were on their way to Dulles, where they could sneak aboard an airplane bound for Miami. Along the way, both Megan and Loki were lost in their own thoughts.

 _So he wants his scepter_ , Megan thought to herself, looking back at their confrontation in March. _But what does it even do? I don’t remember him having it in Asgard, but he didn’t have any extra edge in March compared to what he had then. Yes, he had hordes of mind-controlled people helping him, but that was Sandhurst’s doing._ _So why does he want it back?_ She pondered the matter further for a minute, but since she was missing key information, her efforts were fruitless.

Meanwhile, Loki’s thoughts were occupied on an altogether different manner. _I should have known_ , he thought to himself, looking back at the euphoric moment they had shared earlier. _Of_ course _our mana pools are compatible with one another. Nothing can be simple with this woman!_

Mana compatibility, he knew, meant that he could borrow mana from her and vice-versa, provided they allowed the other to take it. Such an occurrence was relatively common for mana-users with mana pools of similar natures, but Megan’s and Loki’s natures were more or less complete opposites of one another — a fierce storm with unparalleled strength that is swift to act and a cold, slow force that approaches under an illusory guise before acting at the right moment. It may be true that she was an unparalleled planner, but she rarely played the long game, instead seeking the quickest path to victory.

 _The connection formed the moment I performed the hand-kiss, but she couldn’t have known that it’s customary for mana-users to let their mana touch their counterpart’s during such an act, so why did it happen then? Was she already unconsciously reaching out towards me with her mana? Regardless, I know for certain that her mana is attuned to more than just a lightning storm._ He couldn’t forget the feeling of her mana connecting with him, the feeling of electricity crackling over him, of wind caressing him, and of heat coursing through him. _She must also be attuned to fire in some manner. But why she couldn’t see it that first night when she inadvertently communed with her mana pool … That I cannot begin to fathom._

* * *

**Sunday, December 25th, 2005 @ 10:47p, EST | Stark Tower**

“God _fucking_ dammit!” Aldrich bellowed as he smashed a fist into the solid wood desk he kept at Stark Tower, snapping it in half with a wicked crack and sending everything on it spilling in towards the middle as the two halves collapsed into each other. Undeterred by the destruction, he delivered a vicious kick into the left half, causing most of it to shatter in a flurry of splinters and wood dust and the few pieces that remained remotely solid to fly into the wall where they too broke into fragments. His fury still not sated, he grabbed the remaining half, lifted it above his head as though the heavy wood weighed nothing, and slammed it into the ground where it met the same fate as its other half.

He snarled as he lifted his hand up to his right eye, the Extremis within his extremity thrumming as it repaired the fractures his actions had caused, and plucked out the splinter that had embedded itself in his eye’s dark blue iris. He hissed in pain and clamped his eyelid shut as it too began to pulse a bright red, and he turned his undamaged eye back to the TV suspended on the wall on the opposite side of the room. Miraculously undamaged by his brief tantrum, the screen was still showing images of the harbor fire in Miami.

_How?! How does he know?!_

“For those of you just joining us, authorities have confirmed approximately fifteen minutes ago that as a result of the latest Mandarin attack, President Ellis is dead. I repeat, President Ellis is _dead_. Vice President Rodriguez is being sworn in as we speak and will address this tragedy live in just a few minutes here. In the meantime, we’ll… Actually, President Rodriguez is beginning his address now. We’ll be back shortly.”

As the newly minted President Rodriguez’s image appeared on screen, Aldrich called out, “Jarvis, turn that shit off.”

“As you wish,” the tainted Jarvis intoned as the image on the screen vanished, leaving the screen a blank black.

The blonde moved to a clean section of his office and began to pace, furiously reviewing every detail, every sign, every minute matter that could possibly have exposed ‘President Ellis’ as an A.I.M. operative disguised through the magic of Extremis. _It’s maddening!_ he thought to himself. _We’ve been so meticulous, so careful… The switch was executed flawlessly…_ Indeed, it had been. Doppelgänger’s meeting with the now deceased President Ellis, which she had arranged through her artful manipulation of the Senate hearing she’d been called to, had provided A.I.M. with the perfect opportunity for installing their agent, Kiante. _Kiante wouldn’t have deviated from the algorithm… Is that it? Is something about the algorithm somehow flawed and giving them away?_

The cell phone in his pants pocket began to buzz. _Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,_ he humorlessly thought to himself once he had retrieved the phone and saw the ‘restricted number’ notification on the screen. There was only one person who would call him from such a number, especially given what had just happened. He pressed the answer button. “I should have known you would call.”

“What the _fuck_ are you playing at, Killian?” Jasper Sitwell angrily exclaimed. “Are you _trying_ to make this project fail?!”

“ _Me_?!” Aldrich furiously replied. “You’re blaming _me_? It’s _your_ end that’s supposed to be finding this cocksucker, or did your people decide that finding the world’s most wanted terrorist wasn’t worth their time?”

“Don’t try to shift the blame. _Every_ Mandarin attack has been one of your people exploding, and he’s already cleared a _quarter_ of your agents. A _quarter_ , Killian. It’s obvious the problem is on _your_ end.”

The blonde ran a hand through his hair, grabbing at it in frustration. He knew Sitwell had a point. In fact, just about anyone would rationally conclude there was, at the very least, _something_ going on within A.I.M. The facts lined up too perfectly for it to be anything else, and he knew the only reason he wasn’t personally under suspicion was because S.H.I.E.L.D. had him under 24/7 observation. “No, it’s obvious there’s _a_ problem on my end, but the bigger one is still on yours: The Mandarin himself,” he countered, idly swiping his hair back into place. “Fixing the problem on my end only will probably drive this guy to invent new ways to fuck with us, but if you get him, then everything’s solved.”

“Spare the leak in A.I.M.,” the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent harshly countered. “Find it and plug it. You know as well as I do what’s on the line.”

Aldrich knew all too well. The very fate of their world depended on their plan succeeding. War, famine, poverty, sickness, depleting natural resources… The Earth was dying and with it the human race. The world’s leaders did nothing to stymie it, much less stop it, and many of them were, if anything, _accelerating_ humanity’s march towards extinction. Their plan was bold but necessary. If the world’s leaders could not be entrusted with their planet’s fate, then they needed new leaders — leaders who would cooperate with each other in order to safeguard the future. S.H.I.E.L.D. had tried its hand at influencing the outcome of elections, subtly guiding the right people into power, but invariably and inevitably, the new leaders would become as bad as, if not worse than, their predecessors. One leader might succumb to her avarice and seek to consolidate her power; the next leader may become too proud to work as the underling of the people who had put him into power; yet another may be blinded by prejudices they had kept buried out of sight and strike out in anger once they had the power to do something. Power corrupts. This was a truth that S.H.I.E.L.D. had tried and failed to combat.

But if there was one thing that could be said about S.H.I.E.L.D., it was the organization never gave up. If at first it did not succeed, then it would try again with a change of tactic. It needed people in power who would always follow orders, so how could it make that happen? The answer was both simple and complicated: It would put its most loyal agents into those positions of power. The complicated part was _how_ it could do this, and that was where A.I.M. and its Extremis serum factored in. A.I.M. could make anybody into a perfect visual duplicate of someone else. When S.H.I.E.L.D. discovered this, Jasper Sitwell approached Aldrich with an offer: A.I.M. would use Extremis to create duplicates of world leaders, and S.H.I.E.L.D. would allow them to use an algorithm designed by a now deceased scientist named Arnim Zola that could predict the behavior of a person under a given stimulus. Combined with careful observations to cover gaps in factual knowledge, they could create believable doppelgängers. They could create the world leaders that Earth needed. However, if the leak in A.I.M. wasn’t eliminated, then their agents would be eliminated one by one. The plan would fail.

“I understand very well what we’re fighting for,” Aldrich replied with obvious frustration, “and you know the measures I’ve taken to end the problem. I’m the only person who knows who is where, and I keep that information solely in my head.”

“I’m not debating this with you, Killian. You handle your end, and we’ll handle ours. Goodbye.” Aldrich’s phone beeped, signaling that Sitwell had hung up. A sound caught halfway between a weary sigh and a growl of frustration escape his lips as he slipped the phone back into his pocket and collapsed limply into his desk chair, kicking aside a stray piece of shattered desk lying by his feet.

“Who was that?”

The blonde’s eyes snapped up to the door of the office, where the voice had come from, his dark blue eyes glinting like sharpened steel. His brain caught up with him right at the moment his eyes landed on the body of Megan Stark, the outward appearance that his love had been wearing for years.

“You spooked me,” he responded, dodging her question with a non-answer as he relaxed a fraction.

“So I noticed,” Doppelgänger answered with a frown as she noted that he was still so tense he could be mistaken for a parent who mentally prepping themself to explain to their child that no, Santa is _not_ real, and that yes, they really _had_ been lying about it for years. “I also noticed that you haven’t answered my question.”

He winced visibly at that, turning his gaze away from her to glance down and to the side, clearly abashed. “I… You have to understand…”

He trailed off, and the silence that followed was deafening. She said nothing and carefully kept her face neutral, wanting to reserve any judgment for after she had heard his explanation. _Though I hope it’s a good one,_ she thought to herself as she eyed the remains of his utterly decimated desk. _I’ve never seen heard him so angry before…_

“There are some questions,” he said, restarting his explanation and drawing her attention once more, “that you’re better off not knowing the answer to.” When one of her dark eyebrows arched up in a clear expression of doubt, he hastily and somewhat pleadingly added, “I’m _serious_! I need you to trust me on this. You really don’t want to know.”

She worried her lip with her teeth at that, her sky blue eyes widening briefly before narrowing in consideration of his words. After a minute’s pregnant pause, she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper, “Okay. Just… just promise me that you’ll keep me in the loop as much as you can and that you’ll do your best to keep yourself safe. I know what we’re doing is important, that we’re doing what it takes to save the world. I understand all of that. I _appreciate_ the weight of all of that. But…” She trailed off for a moment, and when his dark blue eyes rose to find hers, she diverted her gaze away, a sense of embarrassment overcoming her. “But to me, you’re more important.”

Aldrich opened his mouth to reply but words escaped him. _How can I even respond to that? Sure, couples tell each other “you’re more important than the rest of the world” all the time, but none of them are_ literally _working on saving the world!_ And yet, as he watched her, her cheeks flushing lightly under his scrutiny and her eyes still averted away, he knew that she meant it.

 _I can’t do this._ He abruptly stood and hastily moved towards the door, beckoning her to follow. _I know I can’t waver… can’t escape. But she can. I guess I’ll have to go through with my contingency plan after all._ Though she was startled by the suddenness of his movement, she nevertheless rushed to follow, carefully observing his tense demeanor as she joined him in exiting the room and moving into the elevator.

“Eighty-five, Jarvis,” he ordered without hesitation once they were both inside. The metal doors slid shut, and they reached their destination in short order.

“Why are we in R&D?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity, her sky blue eyes glittering with unasked questions.

“Even if you hadn’t been eavesdropping on me,” he drawled, noting with satisfaction the contrite expression that crossed her face at his words, “you must have noticed that all of the Mandarin attacks bear striking similarities to Extremis explosions.”

“Obviously,” she quipped back, wondering where he was going with this. “I’ve certainly seen more than my fair share of that type of explosion.”

They crossed the threshold into a lab, Aldrich leading the way as he explained. “Since you have _thoroughly_ documented the exact effects of Extremis, you are aware that the only explanation for the attacks is improper use of Extremis or…”

He trailed off as he halted in front of a small but heavily secured metal locker. She stopped as well and eyed the container, which she had seen Aldrich install but had elected to not ask about, presuming he would tell her what was inside if it was important for her to know. _And apparently it’s now important._

“Or,” he continued after a moment, “someone, likely the Mandarin, is killing Extremis users.”

Her breath hitched at that. “I figured as much,” she muttered as she tensed up, as if she expected the Mandarin himself to jump out at her from the shadows of the dark lab. “While you were arguing on the phone, you said the person on the other end of the line and their… ‘people’ are supposed to be tracking him down.” She flicked her eyes up from the locker and locked onto his dark blue eyes, which were already gazing at her intently. A moment’s pause passed, then she added in speculation, “And you believe they won’t be able to catch him.”

“They are… resourceful. I’ve no doubt that they will,” he replied, his voice heavy and his face screwed up like he’d just swallowed a bitter pill. “Eventually. I question who will die in the meantime.”

The gravity of what Aldrich was saying settled upon them like a lead blanket, crushing them without mercy. They stood there in silence for a time, and eventually, he turned to the locker, knelt down next to it, and began to go through the motions of opening it.

She watched him as he did so, carefully observing every movement — every sound — _everything_. His image was burning into her mind in a way it never had before. _Because I never realized just closely we’d been flirting with death, how likely it was that one of us might not see tomorrow._ Her breaths were growing shorter, more ragged, and her body was trembling with a fear she hadn’t felt since that first day he nearly died in front of her — _because_ of her.

The locker’s door swung open with a light creak, and after retrieving the contents of it, he stood up and turned to face her again. She blinked in confusion when he flipped open the case he held in his hands, revealing two syringes: One half full with what could only be Extremis and labeled ‘mine,’ and the other filled with what she suspected was a mixture of Extremis and someone’s blood and labeled ‘hers.’ She glanced up at him with a quirked eyebrow, silently imploring him for an explanation.

He pointed at the one labeled ‘hers.’ “It took some doing, but this will change you into a woman roughly the same size as you are now. You’ll be taking this and a Mark V loaded with a self-contained version of Jarvis that isn’t tied to the Stark Industries system.”

“No,” she whispered, her blood running cold as she realized what he had in mind.

“And I’ll be using this…” he stubbornly continued, ignoring her protest as he grabbed his own syringe and tossed the case onto a nearby table.

“No, Aldrich! You can’t do th—”

He abruptly closed the gap between them, grabbing her arm with an iron grip, and sank the syringe into her with practiced ease, the vein starkly standing out as she unconsciously flexed, trying to pull away. “… to withdraw some of your blood,” he finished.

“ _No_!” she screamed at him as she attempted to snatch it away from him as he milked her body of some of its lifeblood. He held strong, and in the end, her efforts just sped up the process, allowing him to withdraw the needle mere seconds later, the plastic cylinder filled to the brim and the two substances within beginning to merge into a formula that would make him look just like her.

“I’m sorry,” he hoarsely said, his actions obviously taking a toll on him. “I’m so sorry, love.” Still, he summoned up the will to toss that syringe into the case and grab the one labeled ‘hers.’ He pulled her into him, her back against his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her as he positioned the needle. She was struggling against his grip, her eyes wide and wild as she flailed about in a vain effort to free herself, but he was holding her like the end would come if he let her go. “You said I’m more important to you than the world, right?”

“It’s true,” she sobbed, still fighting to free herself but with a halfhearted effort as the futility become more and more obvious. “It’s true, Aldrich, so please! _Please_ don’t do this!” Somewhere in the dark lab, she heard the telltale sign of a Mark V suit powering on.

“I set all of this up,” he said, emotion beginning to bleed into his tone even as he forced himself to not respond to her plea. “I couldn’t acknowledge it to myself then, but even still, I was compelled to do it. But now it’s all coming to a head, and I _have_ to act. I _have_ to admit what I know to be true. I can’t let risk you, but I can’t waver, can’t stop what I’ve started. So I have to do this — do what’s necessary.”

The needle glinted strangely in the red light cast by the pieces of the Mark V suit as they maneuvered through the air towards the pair, coming to a halt in the air before them as they awaited some unspoken signal.

“I love you,” she breathed out so quietly that he nearly didn’t hear her yet firmly enough that he couldn’t doubt her veracity.

He slipped the needle into her no longer struggling body and depressed the syringe’s plunger as he replied, “I love you too.”

She couldn’t help crying out in pain as the transformation began, but after a minute it was done, and the pieces of the Mark V assembled around her before whisking her away. He watched the suit leave, the on-board Jarvis piloting it to the safe house he’d prepared in case this day came. His jaw was set, and the shadows seemed to hug his dark blue eyes, giving them the color of iron as he retrieved the syringe labeled ‘mine’ and slipped it into the syringe case before snapping it shut. “Jarvis, fix the visual records so they show us going down to the garage and leaving via car.”

“Done, sir.”

He began to move towards the exit, retrieving his phone and calling a contact as he went. “Hello, Dominic?” he said as the person on the other end answered. As he slipped into the elevator, he spoke the words he and his contact had agreed upon, “My chest is acting up again. Mind taking a look at it? … Great, be there soon.” He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket before depositing the case into his jacket’s inside pocket and retrieving the arc reactor that had been in his love’s chest from the ground. The problem with suddenly transforming into Megan Stark is she has a hole in her chest. The remaining half of her leg was at least healed over, but her chest has an arc reactor in it, and Extremis, as powerful as it was, could only replicate organic matter. Dominic could handle that problem, but he had to keep up appearances for now, lest S.H.I.E.L.D. notice too soon. He had no illusions about them finding out _eventually_ , but the further he could push that back, the better.

Once he reached the basement and slipped into his car, he glanced at the empty passenger seat, a wave of remorse washed over him. He wished this wasn’t necessary, that she could be with him and still be safe — that he could see her smile one last time, regardless of what face she was wearing.

He was unsure if he’d ever see his beloved Maya ever again.


	6. The Castle of Her Ways, Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. Incorruptible is a fan-based work and not sold for profit.
> 
> ***WARNING: I tend to be very brutal in my descriptions of violence, and this chapter is no exception. You’ve been warned.
> 
> ***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Marvel movie and comic book are going to happen. They’re mixed in with other material, but they are there. You’ve been warned.

_He began to move towards the exit, retrieving his phone and calling a contact as he went. “Hello, Dominic?” he said as the person on the other end answered. As he slipped into the elevator, he spoke the words he and his contact had agreed upon, “My chest is acting up again. Mind taking a look at it? … Great, be there soon.” He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket before depositing the case into his jacket’s inside pocket. The problem with suddenly transforming into Megan Stark was she has a hole in her chest. Her leg was at least healed, but her chest has an arc reactor in it, and Extremis couldn’t replicate that. Dominic could handle that problem, but he had to keep up appearances for now, lest S.H.I.E.L.D. notice too soon. He had no illusions about them finding out_ eventually _, but the further he could push that back, the better._

_Once he reached the basement and slipped into his car, he glanced at the empty passenger seat, a wave of remorse washed over him. He wished this wasn’t necessary, that she could be with him and still be safe — that he could see her smile one last time, even if she was wearing the face of Megan Stark._

_He wished she could be here, his beloved Maya._

* * *

**Incorruptible**  
By: Eva Grimm  
 _Chapter Six: The Castle of Her Ways, Pt. 01_

“The crashing, stormy waves erode her shoreline everyday

Until the castle of her ways turns to sand.”

Pearl Jam, _Lightning Bolt_

* * *

**Friday, December 30th, 2005 @ 09:24a, EST | A.I.M. Facility, Miami, FL**

_All this blood and killing really ought to bother me more_ , Megan thought to herself as she viciously threw a blast of electricity at yet another nameless A.I.M. grunt, eliciting a scream from him as the ball of pure energy wrecked half of his face and knocked him off his feet. The man’s head crashed into a nearby wall with a sickening crunch that made a fleeting feeling of queasiness pass through her, but she studiously ignored it. _But this isn’t really the time or place for me to have a moral debate with myself over what level of violence is called for when I’m being constantly rushed by people who want to kill me. Oh, and they might explode at any moment, can’t forget that little gem!_

Though none of the guards at this facility had yet to exhibit any of the regenerative or explosive traits shared by the man she had killed ( _in self-defense_ , she hastily amended to herself) in the A.I.M. facility in Washington D.C., she knew that she had to be on guard. That man’s death had leveled an entire building and most of the buildings surrounding it; with Bruce in this building, she couldn’t afford to have a repeat occurrence.

A gunshot echoed through the hall and Megan cried out in pain as a bullet slammed into her shoulder. The shooter released a brief cry of triumph, thinking she had crippled her target, but her elation evaporated when Megan snarled and whirled around to face her with electric blue glowing eyes.

“That hurt, you bitch!” she growled out as the bullet that had been partially imbedded in her jacket fell to the floor with a clink, the torn fabric and red, but otherwise undamaged, skin beneath the only indication she had been shot.

A noise caught between a gasp and a whine emanated from the guard as the gun in her hands began to waiver. “Y-y-you’re one of those enhanced, aren’t you? Like that ghost kid!”

“Only if the kid’s got a dog,” Megan quipped, unable to help herself, the thought of her brief encounter with the ghost girl Izzy flitting through her mind. _Honestly, I’m still not sure I wasn’t imagining that altogether. I never saw her again after that…_

Her brief moment of reminiscing was broken when Loki stepped into her view, still safely hidden from view by anyone else thanks to his magic. “We can make this one break.”

“Took you long enough,” she muttered under her breath, knowing the Jotun would hear her. She tossed a brief glance over her shoulder to check if anyone else was coming to investigate the disturbance. Either nobody had been close enough to hear all the noise, or they had decided the valued their own skins more than their job. Frankly, she was betting on the latter, since neither gunshots nor guards having their faces destroyed were exactly quiet.

“One of us is walking, not running around doling out death,” the trickster snarked back, though a small smirk belied his harsh words. Without hesitation he walked right up to the guard and whispered into her ear, his pale green eyes rippling, “Just do what she wants. Is it worth it to die over this?”

Catching on to what he was doing, Megan told the guard, “You have two choices here. You can either tell me what I want to know, or you can die like the others. It’s pretty straightforward, so don’t make the wrong choice — it gets messy.”

“Just look at what she did to that man,” he whispered, his grin becoming toothy and feral. “Can you imagine the pain he felt? The terror? The regret?”

The guard’s eyes flicked over to her fallen coworker, drawn by Loki’s coercion to truly look at the horrible electrical burns on his face, the unnatural bend of his limbs from where he’d fallen to the floor, and the blood pooling underneath him. She hastily set the gun down on the floor and kicked it towards the mana-user before placing her hands on her head. “J-just tell me what you want to k-k-know.”

A wicked grin crossed Megan’s face at that. “Smart. Tell me where they’re keeping Bruce Banner.”

“I d-don’t know,” the guard replied before hastily adding when Megan scowled and raised her hand, “but I’ve s-s-seen some of the eggheads disappear into the restricted area in the basement for hours at a time! That Bruce guy’s got to be in there! He’s nowhere else in here! I _swear_!”

“Take me there.”

* * *

**Friday, December 30th, 2005 @ 04:04a, EST | Clint Barton’s Apartment, NYC**

Clint’s eyes snapped open the instant his phone began to ring, though he rubbed at them a bit as crossed the short distance to his rather spartan apartment’s desk where he had left his phone to charge overnight. After working for S.H.I.E.L.D. as long as he had, he had developed the ability to wake up at a moment’s notice, but that didn’t mean he had to like being called in the middle of what sleep he could manage after… Well, he avoided thinking about that.

“Barton,” he announced in a clipped manner after tapping the button to answer the call.

“Get to the closest facility ASAP,” responded the unmistakable voice of Nick Fury. “Full gear. You’ll be briefed on arrival.”

“Understood,” the blonde replied before setting the phone down, the other end of the call disconnecting upon hearing the agent’s answer.

With a weary sigh, he quickly set about dressing in the dark, minimalist attire he always wore while on the job. Ready to leave, he snatched his bow case and quiver, the two weapons concealed as a briefcase and knapsack, and stalked towards the door. Adjusting so he was holding the case on the same side he had slung the quiver, he reached towards the door before pausing to spare a glance at the one personal touch in his apartment: A picture of a brunette woman with two young children, a blonde-haired girl with pigtails and a boy with messy brown hair. The trio were all smiles and in the midst of some sort of adventure in a brightly lit yard.

After a moment more, he left the apartment and the photo behind.

* * *

“We had a breach at the Triskelion at 12:42p yesterday afternoon,” Agent Sitwell grimly announced to Clint once they had reached a secured room. “The device used was a personal computer belonging to an employee named Stan Lee in Technical Support. The infiltrator was not caught on camera, despite several cameras being in the area. For some reason are experts are still trying to ascertain, all the cameras refused to vicinity of the computer. Whether the infiltrator had inside assistance is currently being investigated. More importantly, everyone in the area before and after the window of the infiltration is accounted for during the actual event by other footage captured of that floor. Put simply, whoever this infiltrator is, they managed to evade being seen by _every single_ _camera_ on that floor, even when they were functioning normally.”

“So it’s an enhanced person of some kind,” Clint interjected. “I assume that’s why I was told to bring full gear.”

“Precisely,” the other man affirmed. “Based on the data accessed, the infiltrator is interested in two people: Aldrich Killian and Megan Stark.” A dark look crossed Clint’s face at that, but Sitwell continued without acknowledging it. “Both of these people are persons of interest to S.H.I.E.L.D. and under surveillance, but as of 10:58p on December 25th, they both departed Stark Tower and subsequently fell off the grid for a period of time. Stark resurfaced three days later, and she is currently at Stark Tower. Killian is still off the grid. Our infiltrator thankfully does not know this because that information has not yet been recorded in our systems. Your role in this is to go to Stark Tower immediately and protect Stark from any potential attack.”

“She’s been avoiding me since late July, so she may not be happy to see me,” the blonde warned.

“She’ll get over it,” Sitwell drawled, obviously uncaring. “All that matters is that she’s under armed guard. She has security systems in that tower, so put them to good use. Dismissed.”

“Do we have any leads on who I should be expecting to come knocking at Stark Tower?” the archer asked as he started towards the door. When Sitwell didn’t reply, he stopped at the door and turned to face the other agent, noting that the man’s posture had gotten stiff.

“Just one person matches the M.O.,” Sitwell replied after a moment. “You were not chosen for this assignment only because you are the closest agent that is on… speaking terms with Stark. Thanks to the events of this past March, you are the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who has most recently engaged the suspected perpetrator.”

“Oh,” was Clint’s simple reply. “ _That_ guy. My arrows went straight through him last time, but hey, that’s what round two is for.” With that, he left the room with his quiver slung over his shoulder and his bow case in hand once more.

* * *

**Friday, December 30th, 2005 @ 09:35a, EST | A.I.M. Facility, Miami, FL**

“Well doesn’t this look familiar,” Loki drawled, an undercurrent of exasperation evident in his voice as the two mana-users stepped into the restricted area they’d been led to, leaving the unconscious body of their guide slumped against a nearby wall. Megan couldn’t blame him though; the last time the trickster was in a server room he was punched in the head by some sort of super-strong living bomb guy who proceeded to blow up the place. The heat didn’t help matters either, but getting knocked out and nearly blown up tends to trump discomfort.

“Your _very good friend_ isn’t here,” he added, a small smirk playing across his lips.

The silver-masked Megan tossed the Jotun a look that he undoubtedly couldn’t see through her mask. “Still, this is good. I didn’t really get a good chance to investigate the computer at that other facility before it got blown up. And wherever they’re holding Bruce is probably stored on here too.” He had nothing to say to that, so she quickly located a terminal and began to work magic of the technological variety while he stayed near the door where it was colder.

It was a minute later while he was examining the room in boredom that Loki saw it. “ _Megan_.”

“Quiet!” she snippily replied as she tossed him a frustrated look. “Now is _literally_ the worst time to use my real name!”

Loki did not reply, however, the entirety of his attention focused on a syringe lying on a table she had passed by in her haste to get to a terminal. Following the direction of his gaze in confusion, she froze when she saw the syringe, or more specifically what was inside it. “L…” she murmured, her eyes wide and her hands now trembling, unable to type. “That’s… that’s the serum they injected me with!”

His eyes snapped towards her, a sharp gleam in them. “Are you certain? Are you _absolutely certain_ of this?”

“Yes,” she breathed out, her own eyes slowly moving to return his gaze. “I remember _every_ detail of that day.”

The trickster’s pale green eyes twisted back towards the syringe, a look of horror and fascination on his face. “How this can be, I do not know, but this is _mana_.”

“The fuck? Are _you_ absolutely certain?” she replied in a harsh whisper, turning his words on him.

His eyes snapped back to her again, and in one swift movement, he crossed the room and grabbed her hand. Though weaker than it was the day prior, the euphoric sensation that occurred the last time the two of them physically touched coursed through Megan once more, an icy cold suffusing her as the server room around them began to ever so slightly distort. The moment was over in a flash, however, as Loki dropped her hand as he snarled out, “Damned humans, what have they done?!”

“L! Stop and explain this! You’re scaring me!”

“Do you not remember what was said the night we struck our deal? ‘No one would believe that I was Megan stark, much less how my body had changed,’” he retorted.

She was initially confused by his non sequitur but realization dawned on her quickly. “‘What your world can do with this science is fascinating,’” she quoted back, her eyes widening in horror. “‘To recreate what only magic could accomplish, all without a drop of mana…’”

“They used mana all along,” Loki finished, his expression dark. “Mana they somehow created or extracted themselves.”

* * *

**Friday, December 30th, 2005 @ 04:49a, EST | Stark Tower, NYC**

“Agent Barton, this is an unexpected surprise,” Jarvis said as Clint stepped into the lobby of Stark Tower. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Put the tower in lockdown, J,” the sharpshooter replied as he crossed over towards the elevator. “And get me to the penthouse. Let Meg know I’m on my way and it’s urgent.”

“There’s a slight problem with that, sir. You see, the Megan Stark upstairs is not Miss Stark.”

That gave the blonde pause, stopping in front of the elevator. “Want to run that by me again?”

“Oh, that wasn’t really a good explanation, was it?” the AI responded. “There is a person upstairs who looks like Miss Stark but is in fact an imposter.”

“Uh huh,” he drawled out. “And you know this… how?”

“It’s a bit involved to explain, so in the interest of time I will say that I was contaminated from mid-July through yesterday. Miss Stark restored me to rights using the secret backup server that she keeps isolated from the rest of my systems and brought to light that she had been replaced by a doppelgänger in mid-July.”

 _And Meg’s been avoiding me since late July_ , Clint noted to himself, remembering his discussion with Sitwell. _Still, this is farfetched…_ “How can you be sure you weren’t hacked yesterday, and someone planted all of this in your head?”

“Technically, sir, I cannot be sure. But my probability calculations indicate there is a much greater likelihood that I am presently in my right mind. So as Miss Stark would say, ‘the balance of probability dictates’ that I must assume the person upstairs is an imposter until further evidence is acquired.”

 _Just wonderful._ “Yeah, I’m not getting in the elevator when there’s _any_ chance you could be corrupted, so I’ll get upstairs the old fashioned way,” Clint replied as he turned on his heel and marched back towards the entrance.

“If I may say so, Agent Barton sir, your grapple arrows are not exactly ‘old fashioned.’”

The sharpshooter smirked at that. “Well, I was just going to hail a helicopter, but I got to admit, J, that _does_ sounds like a much more entertaining way to get up there.” _And more importantly, more stealthy way_.

* * *

**Friday, December 30th, 2005 @ 09:38a, EST | A.I.M. Facility, Miami, FL**

Everything that happened over the past half a year — no the past half a _decade_ — were finally beginning to make sense to Megan; all the variables of the mystery of Extremis were finally coming into view. “When I helped out Maya in Bern,” she began to murmur to herself, drawing Loki’s attention, “even _I_ thought it was crazy I could grasp how to improve her Extremis formula so quickly. I knew absolutely nothing about bio-engineering, but when I saw that formula, when I saw her notes describing the change in the serum’s properties as its formula was altered… It just made _sense_ to me on some intuitive level.”

Slowly, her trembling hands began to still as adrenaline started to push through her veins — through the very veins that housed at least a portion of some variant of Extremis. “That man in D.C., I suspected he had been injected with Extremis too, but I couldn’t believe they’d use Extremis in humans if it still had explosive properties. But if Extremis is _mana_ … not everyone has mana, and not everyone has the same reserves, so it would make sense that it might effect people differently when injected into them. Maybe they had some successful test subjects, and they got too cocky and took shortcuts because of it?”

“It doesn’t matter who made it or who you used it!” Loki sharply interjected. “You’re missing the _point_.”

“Then what _is_ it?” she replied in a similar tone, not appreciating the interruption.

“It will _always_ explode.”

She paled at that. “ _What_?”

“You said it yourself just now, everyone is different, some have mana and some don’t. When you take a gear from one clock and force it into a _different_ clock, then the clock will ultimately fail. If the gear is similar to the one it’s replacing, then it will take longer to happen, but eventually, something will wear down and just _stop working_.”

“I’ll fix it.”

Loki blinked in confusion. “You’ll what?”

“You heard me. I said I’ll fix it,” Megan replied, her voice firming up, the tremor in her hands finally gone altogether.

“This is not your precious science!” the trickster seethed, though she could detect a slight undercurrent of fear. “You Midgardians have already dabbled in what you should not have, attempted to force nature to conform to your whims! Have you learned nothing these past few days?! Why do you think mana only works when you are in unison with your true self?! Because you _cannot_ make yourself something you are _not_!”

“I have been listening,” she calmly replied. If he had been anyone else, she knew she would have responded with violence, but despite the violent tendencies she’d picked up in the past half a year, something in her could no longer get truly angry at the raven-haired god. “I’ve listened to every word you’ve said, L.” Picking up the syringe from the table, she said, “Look at this syringe. Look at what’s in it. _Mana_. You said earlier that you thought this might have been extracted from someone else, but it’s not — it wasn’t. I _know_ it. This was _made_. This mana was made by _science_ , by a formula I helped create in some way.”

She set the syringe back down, seeing that Loki had finally begun to calm down, though his gaze was now locked onto hers. “I. Will. Fix. It.” And without another word on the matter, she returned her attention to the terminal. No alarm had gone off yet, but that was only because she had systematically killed every single guard spare the one who they had coerced into giving them directions. Sooner or later, someone was going to get brave enough, or stupid enough, to do something about their intrusion. The insight on Extremis was _very_ welcome, but it wasn’t why they were here.

_Hm? What’s this?_

There on the server was a folder labeled 01_01_2004 that contained a video and a lone document. It might have been the oddness of finding a folder with so few items in it, or perhaps that it had simply been a long time since Megan had revisited anything around the time she lost her leg on New Year’s Eve 2003, but _something_ about this folder felt off to her. Acting on the feeling, she double clicked the video.

* * *

**Thursday, January 2nd, 2004 @ 03:05a, EST | Miami, Florida**

“ _Aldrich_!” Maya Hansen said from the doorway to the man’s room, her voice the sort of loud whisper one only ever used to wake up someone sleeping.

The blonde haired businessman startled awake and glanced around blearily for a moment before noticing who’s woken him up. Tossing a quick look at the alarm clock, he groans before sleepily replying, “You’ve been up all night playing with that leg, haven’t you?” He’d only managed a few hours of sleep since he finally returned to Miami.

The brunette opens her mouth to respond, but at first no words come out. Eventually, she manages to say, “I’ve had a breakthrough.”

That got him out of bed. “Show me.”

The pair made their way down to the basement, Aldrich not even pausing to throw on more than the wife beater tank and boxers he’d been sleeping in. Some things were more important to the man than appearances. Besides, Maya herself was wearing pajama pants and a matching low-cut top. Whether or not she’d slept yet, she was certainly dressed for it.

In short order, they reached the server room and entered the old elevator, shutting the scissor gate before descending into her lab. The first thing Aldrich noted when they reached the lab was the leg. It wasn’t every day, after all that one saw a severed leg, and though he had arranged for Megan Stark’s body part to be brought here, he had yet to actually see it himself. The second thing he noticed was lying on a plastic mate with the cooler nowhere nearby, yet it seemed… healthy.

“How long has that been out?” he asked, already suspecting what her breakthrough was.

“For nearly eight hours,” she proudly responded. “When I initially injected the leg with Extremis, there was no visible response whatsoever. About a half an hour afterwards, it occurred to me to test the decomposition rate of the flesh by removing the leg from the cooler altogether. I examined a small sample for cellular decay after the limb was outside the cooler for another half an hour, and I noticed none whatsoever.” She gestured at a nearby camcorder set up on a tripod. “I set that up immediately to record for posterity’s sake, and I’ve been examining samples ever since. Aldrich, there has been _no_ cellular decay whatsoever! If anything, the limb seems to be getting _healthier_!”

The blonde’s mouth felt dry. He was no doctor, but even he could see the implications. “This could potentially preserve a severed limb indefinitely then?”

Maya frowned at that. “Well, it’s too early in testing to be sure, but my initial guess is along those lines, yes. The main concern I’d have would be what would happen if the limb was reattached to someone.”

Aldrich frowned as well. “What strain did you put in it?”

“V1.1,” she admitted, wincing. “I had meant to use the original strain, to see if the body might begin to regenerate without the mind, but I was so caught up in the moment that I grabbed the wrong one by mistake.”

“Wouldn’t that mean the Extremis has internalized its current state?”

“How many times am I going to have to tell you, Aldrich?” she responded in exasperation. “Just because the strain does something with one person — one _thing_ even — doesn’t mean it will do the same with another! That’s why it’s so important to do testing on multiple subjects, and why you injecting yourself with the original Extremis was _unbelievably_ risky!”

“Pardon me, _doctor_ ,” the blonde snarked. “I’ll just leave the science to you and get back t—”

He stopped speaking immediately when the leg on the table began to do something decidedly strange. It began to _bleed_.

“What the hell,” she muttered, noticing the phenomenon too. “There was no blood in it when I checked a couple of hours ago…” She took a few steps closer to the limb. “Wait. This isn’t blood. The color’s off, it’s too bright…” It was a color they both would know well in the coming two years: A mixture of the bright red of Extremis and the dark red of human blood.

Maya got to know it up close very quickly, however, when she proceeded to trip and fall forward. With a pained yelp, she slammed head first into the metal corner of the table, cutting open her scalp and sending the table’s contents flying, and as luck would have it, some of the liquid oozing from the limb splattered over her fresh wound.

Aldrich, who had begun to rush forward to help her, froze in place when she released a blood curdling scream and began to _change_. He watched with wide eyes as her skin began to crawl and writhe, her bones cracking and reforming, her honey brown eyes slowly changing shade to sky blue, and, most telling of all, her sternum began to tear apart, leaving a bloody, gaping wound that was visible over her low-cut top.

Instinctively realizing what was happening, he snatched out his phone and with shaky hands dialed the number of one of his longtime friends, a man who excelled at making things happen.

“Dominic, I know what time it is, but this is an _emergency_. I need you to get medical staff to the facility here in Miami _now_. I’m here in Maya’s lab, the one in the basement that you can only get to through the server room. Tell them… Tell them there’s a woman here with a hole in her chest. _I need discretion_ on this, Dominic. I’ll pay you whatever you want, just make this happen.”


End file.
